The Weather is Fair Today, Wouldn't You Say?
by l0chn3ss
Summary: In Steampunk/Victorian Era Death City, Miss Maka Albarn and Lord Soul Evans find themselves in a position they'd never thought they'd be in: a fake relationship. They attend balls, tea parties, and walk through the park in an attempt to fake their romance all in the name of a business partnership, but will real feelings bloom? Reverb 2016; w/ Lucyrne, Lunar-resonance, Snowbunnie42.
1. Chapter 1

Collaboration between artist Snowbunnie42 and authors Lucyrne, Lunar-resonance, and L0chn3ss. Story based on Snowbunnie42's art, check it out on tumblr!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

When Lord Soul Evans looked back on his brief summers spent in Death City, the floating jewel of the empire, he remembered the crooked buildings, the winding streets, and constant feeling of impending adventure. What he didn't recall was the goddamn _wind._

Death City was among the first societies to lift off the ground and colonize the sky. After several decades migrating up and down the Nevada desert, it had established itself as both a leader of industry and culture. His parents had gladly sent their reclusive second son to Death City in the hopes that some of that prestige would inspire his art. Instead, he spent those summers escaping his rooms and exploring the city's dirty corridors with his neighbor's rascal daughter, Maka Albarn.

But now his parents were dead, his brother in debt, and his artist career nonexistent. Maybe this time whatever magic that propelled Death City residents like Maka to grit their teeth and create their own success would actually rub off on him.

Soul had only just stepped off the zeppelin that delivered him to the Death City airstrip when his hat was carried off his head by a sudden gust of wind. Breezes didn't exist at this altitude, just strong gusts that felt like a punch to the stomach. Because Death City floated above a desert, the wind usually carried sand.

Other passengers shielded their eyes and squawked as they tried to control their billowing skirts. Soul's hat was carried upward before falling at the feet of the only person on the airstrip who wasn't clucking at the impropriety of it all.

Maka Albarn, shielded by a parasol and unperturbed by the wind, bent low to pick up his hat. This was not the raggedy girl he remembered. Miss Albarn was an heiress now, and in an amber gown cinched at the waist and decorated with authentic gears, she looked the part. She was an image of calm, a desert flower blooming in the midst of a sandstorm. If not for the sand blowing in his face, Soul might have opened his mouth in shock.

"You can always tell an Earth Child," Maka said cooly, wind and sand frantically beating against her parasol. "They always lose their hats on their first day." She held out his cap, and he took it. Had Maka not been wearing white gloves, his fingertips would have certainly grazed her hand.

Soul thought the gears stitched into Maka's skirts were purely a staple in Death City fashion, but when the wind blustered again, he saw that they actually served to weigh down her petticoats. The parasol helped keep her yellow lady's hat from lifting off her head and blowing away. _You can always tell a Death Child,_ he thought with a smirk.

The wind died down and Soul wiped the sand from his eyes, the two old friends embraced. To a random observer, the gesture may have appeared overly familiar, maybe even scandalous. But to them, nothing less than a tight hug would do for lifelong friends reunited once again.

After Soul stopped visiting Death City in his youth, they diligently wrote letters to each other. Their communication waxed and waned like the cycle of the moon, but it became more constant after Spirit Albarn came into his wealth.

But still, writing to someone was much different from seeing them face to face. Maka wasn't a scrappy girl with splotches of oil streaked across her nose. She was a lady now, a self-made business woman and inventor.

"I didn't squeeze into a corset today just so I could chat with you," Maka said. "We have business to do and a garden party to attend. Your things will be sent to your room at my Papa's estate. Now come, we don't have a moment to lose!"

As children, Soul used to contrive flimsy excuses to unload half of his monthly allowance on his poorer friend. A couple coins for escorting him to the supermarket. A few more for writing up the grocery list. A dozen for carrying his bags. Maka knew what he was doing, but she wasn't in a position to refuse the money.

He wondered now if Maka's offer to accept him as a partner to finish her newest invention was her way of paying him back.

By signing on as co-inventor of Maka's 'Pegasus' project, Soul would (hopefully) share the profits when it was finished and save his family from ruination. His title would help entice the Death City elite to invest in Maka's creation, but at the end of the day Soul was the one who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, not Maka. The tables had truly turned.

After a short cab ride, they arrived at the so-called garden party. Like most Death City gardens, the event actually took place within a large atrium. Residents of the floating city quickly learned that high altitude winds and temperatures weren't kind to flora or fauna, so the wealthy housed their flowers in extravagant, solar-powered greenhouses.

Channeling sunlight into a small space was good for plants, but not for party guests. Ladies furiously whipped out their fans to cool their sweaty faces. The feathers on their tall hats drooped from the heat. Men dabbed their foreheads with their handkerchiefs and struggled to conceal sweat stains blooming at their armpits. Soul, too, silently lamented that his blue jacket would never smell right again.

Soul was no stranger to parties or gossip, but as the less illustrious Evans brother, he had never been at the center of either. Not five minutes in this garden party, Soul overheard someone gossiping about him for the first time with his own ears.

"The Albarn heiress is certainly setting her sights high," said a woman whose defining feature was her remarkable feathered hat. "The Evanses are blue bloods, you know. Not too wealthy anymore, but good blood is priceless."

"It seems like a smart match to me," another said. "The Albarn upstarts will get their title, the Evanses can keep theirs. I'm surprised it's taken so long for Miss Albarn-"

Soul reluctantly stopped eavesdropping on that intriguing line of thought when Maka touched his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening mere feet from them.

"Look over there," she whispered, taking his arm and nodding towards a back corner of the greenhouse. "That's Lord Neville Featherstone, our host. He has a reputation for making good investments. I'm sure if we got him on board, others would follow."

Featherstone was a ridiculous looking man who carried himself with a dignified air. Soul figured he was one of those eccentric philanthropists people only put up with because everything they touched spat money. Exactly the sort of person they needed to desperately woo.

"We better get over there," Soul said, but just as the two partners made their approach, someone else took hold of Maka's arm and pulled her away. It was another woman, a blonde middle-aged woman with wavy blonde hair and a clockwork eyepatch. Maka willingly fell into easy conversation with the woman, leaving Soul on his own. Since when did she become a natural schmoozer? Probably around the same age she started wearing corsets instead of men's shirts, he figured.

Elsewhere in the room, Featherstone's companions moved away from him. This was Soul's shot. Mustering every shred of a memory he had of his beleaguered preteen etiquette tutor, he put his shoulders back and advanced.

As the party host, Featherstone was more than happy to speak to talk to complete stranger. They clasped hands and made their introductions.

When questioned about his profession, Soul said, "I've actually only just arrived here in Death City to pursue a new career. Perhaps you have heard already, but Miss Albarn and I are working on a new invention. I'm actually from-"

"Well, what's it for?" Featherstone asked with a cock of his head. "Your invention? What exactly is its function?"

This was exactly the kind of question Soul really needed Maka to answer. In her letters, Maka very carefully described the various parts she needed Soul to help build. She never got around to explaining the big picture. Or if she did, Soul had skimmed over it to get to what he wanted to read more quickly, namely Maka's meandering updates about her life, her questions that he would answer in his response, and her signature _'Forever your friend, Maka.'_

But he couldn't just stand there gaping. This was their only shot to get Featherstone's financial support. "The Pegasus project is Maka's opus," Soul explained, glancing over his shoulder. "It would be a discredit to her genius to hear of it from anyone else's lips. I can introduce her to you."

"But I thought-Oh I see! This is marvelous," Featherstone said, clapping his hands together. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. A couple going into _business_ together?"

For a single moment, Soul allowed his mask to slip off to register shock and confusion. While the gossips insinuating that Maka and Soul were an item was odd, he had brushed them off as exactly that-gossip. Nosey women clutching at straws so they could have something to complain about over scones. Featherstone was a businessman who never dealt in hearsay or fiction. That made his mistake more real and serious.

"I've always held a soft spot for romance," Featherstone continued, wistful. "So how long have the two of you been in, hehe, _business_?"

Determined to set the record straight and frantic not to fail, Soul's mouth started moving before his thoughts could catch up. "We first became engaged in-"

"Engaged! That's wonderful!" Soul's cheeks turned beet red, and he stood shell-shocked as Featherstone removed his chequebook from his pocket. "I always trust my instincts," Featherstone said as he scribbled his signature. He clasped the cheque in Soul's hands. "Don't let me down!" Featherstone spotted someone else over Soul's shoulder.

The rest of the party passed by in a daze. Soul wandered from table to table, trailing behind Maka, discussing only the weather and the wind with other partygoers as Featherstone

"You did _amazing!"_ she exclaimed. "You hardly even spoke to him before he took out his checkbook. What did you say? How did you do it?"

"Funny thing about that," Soul said. "I told a lie."

"That's alright. This is business. We'd never get anywhere without a few lies to grease the wheels."

"That's the problem," Soul said. "I didn't say we were strictly business partners. I might have implied that our relationship was less professional bytellinghimweareengaged."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

 _SALACIOUS LOVE MATCH BLOOMS AT GARDEN PARTY_

 _By Shaula Gorgon_

 _For the first time in its history, the talk of the biannual Featherstone garden party isn't Nora Featherstone's infamous taste in hats, but a love match blossoming among the gardenias._

 _Lord Soul Evans, fresh from his father's funeral, was first spotted at the Death City Airstrip clutching the understated bosom of the recently-endowed Maka Albarn. Witnesses saw them leave immediately to the Featherstone garden party, where they stunned guests with their brazen whispers and brushing of fingers._

 _"I, for one, do not think that behavior is appropriate in public, especially for a young woman," Marcia Baxter told the Daily Death._

 _Sources tell us that the two young people arrived together under the pretense of a 'project' that required funding from venture capitalists. Details on the project are slim, but it is worth noting that Mr. Evans has a background in sculpture and Miss Albarn in mechanical engineering. Even Lord Neville Featherstone, who parted with a fat check mere minutes after seeing the couple, can only speculate about what they are making._

 _"There's nothing more exciting than young people taking risks," Mr. Featherstone said. "I look forward to seeing my investment grow after their wedding."_

 _Not everyone is thrilled about the match. Spirit Albarn, shrill-voiced inventor and rampant adulterer, became hostile when questioned by Daily Death reporters outside the Albarn estate. His statement was edited to revise phrases unbecoming of a family newspaper._

 _"I have no comments on the subject of my daughter's wedding prospects," the lech said, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Except that this engagement is a lie. It's simply not true. Maka has no suitors. Not that she can't attract them. Dozens of men probably would [court] my beautiful daughter if their slimey [hearts] had the opportunity. They just don't deserve the honor. Especially that [Mr. Evans] in particular. But frankly, I don't have any comments on the matter."_

 _While the smarmy Albarn patriarch was unwilling to speak any further with the Daily Death, Wes Evans, the recently arrived brother of the mysterious Soul, had plenty to say on the record._

 _"I am as surprised as you are by these developments," the elder Evans said after he stepped off the airship that brought him to Death City. "But let it be known now that when my brother eventually makes his intentions public-"_

Maka crumpled the morning edition of the _The Daily Death_ in her hands with a small growl. Thinking of a better idea, she picked up the blowtorch on her workbench, put on her industrial gloves, and set the paper alight in her hands. The way the newspaper's edges curled and darkened was satisfying, but it wasn't enough to erase what it said. What the thousands of papers distributed throughout the city said.

She had concocted several contingency plans in case the garden party was a bust. After all, the best strategy to success was to hit the ground running and never stop. But she didn't plan for this.

Her workshop was a clutter of springs, gears and metal beams. Tools and supplies exploded out of every drawer, and her worktable was covered entirely by blueprints and drafts. Soul was looking over those papers now with acute interest, which was odd considering that he preferred to make up his art as he went, not plan it from the ground up.

Another copy of _The Daily Death_ was left partially folded beside him. So the examination of the blue prints was a distraction. This meant he was embarrassed too.

He noticed her looking, and Maka's cheeks flamed. She braced herself for some form of denial, for disgust even.

"You're mad at me," Soul stated.

"No," Maka said with a sigh. She masked her relief with exasperation. "I'm really not. You did what you had to. It's everyone else I'm mad at. Since when were my comings and goings worthy of the society pages?"

"Since you started cavorting in public with an eligible, wealthy bachelor," Soul said, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, it's kinda funny. No one gives a damn about me on Earth, but in Death City I'm apparently a real catch."

Without speaking, Maka picked up a stray spring from her worktable and tossed it at him. Soul tried to catch it, but only managed to juggle it between his hands before dropping it onto the floor and tripping over his own feet.

"Oh yes," Maka said with a smirk. "You are quite the catch."

From his vantage point on the floor, Soul shot her the most sheepish grin she had ever had the pleasure to witness. He scratched his cheek, unknowingly smearing dark oil on his face, and a hidden part of Maka's heart swooned.

Nursing a crush on a childhood friend is all fun and games until it becomes clear that those feelings are nothing but an unattainable dream. A younger, more brazen Maka had written so many letters to Soul, bared her very heart to him in all but the plainest of terms, only to receive a polite, distant reply. Now that she was older and wiser, Maka knew better than to entertain such fantasies.

She had her shot. She knew the outcome. It was behind her now, no matter what the tabloids said.

At any rate, this wasn't the time and the place or nostalgia or whimsy. Maka was dressed in her brown coveralls, and equipped with her tool belt. It was time to work.

They spent the rest of the afternoon squabbling over blueprints, sorting out the parts they needed to build the Pegasus prototype, and delegating who should start on which piece. The pair lost a precious half hour as Maka once again explained what her invention would even become-a personal flying machine designed to help Death City citizens move from place to place without the fear of falling off the edge of the city.

Death City was built like an enormous convex clock. Neighborhoods shifted like gears once per hour. Steep roads and sets of stairs made reaching the peak of the city, Shibusen, all but impossible for children, the elderly, and the disabled. This design helped Death City generate its own energy and stay afloat, but it did its citizenry no favors.

Their roles on their new project were simple. Maka was to pour her energies into perfecting the inner mechanisms that made the Pegasus float and _go._ Soul was to focus on making the exterior of the machine both attractive to the eye and comfortable for the rear.

They had a lot of work ahead of them, but at least it was a start.

A start that would end in a furious halt due to a visit from the brother 'with plenty to say on the record.' The double doors both swung open as the ever so flamboyant Wes Evans entered with a small automated music box playing a fanfare in one hand and a plate of sandwiches in the other.

"Buongiòrno, my beloved brother and my beautiful sister-in-law! My adoring family, oh how I've missed-"

" _You-!_ " came Soul's anguished cry as he charged forward, only to be scooped up in a one armed hug that lifted him up from the ground.

"What a warm welcome! You haven't greeted me like this since you both were children. How the committed life has changed you!"

As peeved as Maka was, she covered her mouth as Soul dangled in Wes' arms like a kitten stuck in curtains. "Now there's something you don't see everyday," she laughed, eliciting sounds of protest from Soul.

"Put me down. Release me, fiend. Wes, now!"

"Oh hush. After hearing you, I wonder why people call me 'Whiny Wes.'"

"It's because your brother was called 'Sappy Soul,'" Maka said, cackling louder and beating her papers with the palm of her hand.

"Stop it," Soul said indignantly as he wormed out of Wes' grip. "Look, we're busy, ok? There's much to do before we can launch and we don't need any delays caused by your nonsense, alright?"

"But that's why I'm here! To be at your service and help make sure this little toy of yours makes us rich again. So, sandwiches?"

Ah, so that was why he hightailed it to Death City after his brother. Wes enjoyed the finer things, but he didn't have his father's head for business. Mere weeks after his father's death, the elder Evans was ousted as the head of their family company for making reckless decisions. It was a very neat, swift takeover that concluded before the late Lord Evans was even cold in the ground. The way Soul told it, it was Wes' first ever failure.

With a dour look, Soul pushed away Wes' plate of finger sandwiches. "I think you've done enough already. Any more interviews Maka and I should worry about? Have you told any more lies to the papers?"

Wes' face contorted with melodrama, and he dropped the plate of food on the workbench with a sharp clatter. "How was I supposed to know?" he exclaimed. "When all of those reporters swarmed me out of nowhere asking about you, I thought you might have proposed and I just missed the news. It seemed plausible."

" _Plausible_?" The incredulity in Soul's voice stung. Maka turned away and stared harder at her blueprints. Surely if she looked at them hard enough, inspiration would find her. "Those were tabloids! You should take everything they say with enough salt to fill the Dead Sea."

"I was jetlagged, I wasn't thinking clearly."

"That's your problem, Wes. You never think."

"You _wound_ me." Soul's brother plucked a sandwich for himself off the bench and headed for the door. "If I were you, I would spend less time pouting and more time enjoying this brief respite from eternal loneliness and bachelorhood. Stop being petulant and own it for once."

When Wes' footfalls out of the workshop and through the garage door became silent, Maka scowled and stared at her blueprints, unseeing and distracted. What was to happen to them when the other shoe dropped and the city learned the truth? That Maka Albarn, ascendant heiress and inventor, remained unengaged. That she had unknowingly misled the popular and jovial Mr. Featherstone and manipulated him into giving her money.

"You think Featherstone will ask for his money back when he finds out?" Maka asked her partner.

"Oh shit, I didn't think about that." Soul tapped absently on the wooden table, thinking. "Maybe we can talk to him and apologize. Except that he's been quoted in the paper and will look like a fool no matter what we say. _Fuck_."

"Owning up to the confusion won't work," Maka agreed. "Maybe we should just...own it."

"What?"

The plan was forming in her head as she spoke. "We won't confirm or deny what the papers are saying. We'll just give them enough fuel to keep up the rumors on their own until we've sold the prototype."

"Give them fuel?" Something behind Soul's red eyes suddenly caught fire. "You mean pretend that we're an item? Maka, that makes no sense."

But it did make sense. The two partners had hardly appeared in public together before a wealthy and powerful man started to line up his support for their project. How much more successful would they be if they tried that again _on purpose?_

It's a dirty tactic, pretending to be dating someone in order to court venture capitalists with a flare for romance, but the ends would justify the means, right? After the prototype was completed and the product sold to a manufacturer, Maka and Soul could retreat to the ground and wait for this fervor around their relationship to blow over. Then they could go back to being business partners and pen pals. Nothing more, nothing less.

Maka disliked the word 'scheme' since those were plans her father carried out and usually failed, but in this context it felt right.

She explained her thinking to Soul, who became more mumbly in his responses as he munched on one of Wes' sandwiches.

"So, you and I…" Soul trailed off, waving another bite sized morsel in the air as he gathered his words. It was hard to tell whether he was being deliberately obtuse or simply couldn't process the idea that he might be fake-engaged to his childhood friend. "...We'll act is if we are to be engaged. Let the tabloids write what they will, and reap the benefits. Or are we supposed to act as if we are already engaged?"

"Let's remain vague on those details," Maka said. "No wedding dates, no engagement plans. Just two people in public under romantic pretenses."

Wes poked his head back in. "Do you two need any more snacks? Drinks? A bit of sherry to pair with the chicken? An engagement ring to go with your outings? You can have one of my exes, I'm sure they'll send it back in the mail."

Marriage plot forgotten, Soul's demeanor shifted from reticent to wrathful in a moment. " _Get out._ "

"I'm sure you'd rather cast your own, though, this is true. Oh, Maka. You should see his latest metalworks- they are divine-"

Soul slammed the door on his face, asking Maka to ignore the rest of the muffled ramblings. "This is so embarrassing."

She gave him a smile of reassurance and reminded him, "You sent me a few sketches of your sculptures before. And...well I still have some of them pinned behind you, too." Her face felt warm as Soul turned slowly, checking and double checking in disbelief that the images really were displayed in her garage.

She hoped he didn't notice the box below them that were filled with saved letters.

"Now this is really embarrassing," he moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "They're so _old._ "

"They're cute," she mused. "Which makes it even more anticipating to see what you can design for ol' Steam Victor's exterior while I work on his heart."

"Steam Victor?"

"Our pegasus- he runs on steam technology and we are going to be the victors. I'm his mother so I get to choose his name."

Soul frowned. "Well then, as his father, I think this is a stupid name. But whatever, I'm not going to get attached to its name. What I do need though is some balsa wood to get started after redesigning some of the exterior. Do you have any?"

"Check the shelves under your drawings. Ah, on second thought, I'll do it myself."

"Why? Are you hiding something?"

"Just my mess." She weaved through the experiments that laid unfinished on the way to the walls. One day in one of her many dreams, she'll have time to finish tinkering with them all. "I'm fresh out of balsa." Maka eyed one of the broken contraptions just a few steps from where she stood. "It might have been sacrificed for a greater good."

Soul lifted a loose leaf of paper from her table. "Looks like you have some shopping to do, too. You don't get a restock weekly?"

"I'd rather hand pick my material. We can use this time for me to show you around- although I go to more smaller stores closer to where I lived before moving. It might be more dangerous for an Earth Child."

He visibly shuddered. "You mean the Cogs? I'll have to pass."

"I can get the things tomorrow after I'm- after the- umm Soul. I think Wes is tapping on the door."

"Ignore it," Soul said, though he started towards the sound as it grew louder and his frequency became faster.

"No… Soul…. Go with her… Soul… Escort your bride-to-be… Soul… Sooouuulll."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

"Did you bring the list?"

Soul snorted, reaching into his coat pocket. "Of course I did—not. Uh—"

Maka glanced behind her in the unimpressed and judgmental way that only she could get away with, flicking the folded paper from the folds of her sleeves. She silently waited for Soul to take it, and made another motion for him to read it.

He stumbled through the clearly written lines of her penmanship, growing warmer as Maka corrected the pronunciation of certain materials while she recited the following words from memory. Although he had stopped, Maka still continued to mumble the rest of the contents while mentally comparing the prices of the bolts from this shop to a provider that she made transactions with more regularly.

 _To hell with all types of shopping_ , Soul groaned inwardly.

It was already growing late, and they had yet to stop for high tea. He wished they'd gone earlier to the Cogs, but Maka insisted that she helped the rest of her staff clean her "overly excessive" home so that some of the younger women could go spent a few hours of daylight with their children. Who could get mad at a reason like that? She was everything that he remembered, yet nothing like he could have ever imagine.

He recalled an evening in their youth where they spent their time rescuing baby birds from a metallic tree.

"A heat wave was dangerous to humans," Maka had explained. "It would bake the chicks alive if they didn't move the nest before the next day."

Together, they slipped off the copper branches and bruised their behinds black and blue, and Soul wanted to give up so they could make supper on time, yet Maka refused. "We must help the weak whenever we can," she repeated over and over and over again. "Even if it means getting hurt ourselves."

Wes had found them before the sun had set that day and rescued both Maka and Soul from the branches where they'd been hanging for hours, even managing to pry the nest from Maka's protective arms. She had let go upon his promise to personally escort the chicks—along with their parents who had been watching among the tin leaves—to a rescue center where they would be relocated to a real tree within a garden. Well, on second thought, Maka and Soul followed after him just to be sure, hand in hand as they forgot about hunger for the night.

Who would have thought that the kind and fierce summer girl that Soul once knew had grown to be a woman just as kind and just as fierce- one he wanted to stay with for longer than the coming dusk.

He approached Maka while she reached for the upper shelves with tight lips. His arms effortlessly arched over her head and he leaned on the divider.

"Which one?"

She looked back at him for a moment, then quickly pointed at a bundle towards the center left. "The half," she muttered, wiggling away carefully to not brush against his body. "The nine sixtieth as well since you're already there."

"Anything else? I see bronze ones if you prefer that color over silver."

Maka cleared her throat before responding, "I'd like both, thank you." She watched him for a moment longer before saying, "Did— I—It looks like you've grown since we last met…"

It was Soul's turn to return her displeased face from earlier. "It's been years, Maka. No offense to your stature, but one of us had to outgrow their clothes from their pre-teens." He tossed the bags of bolts into the basket hanging from Maka's arm, smirking just a bit as she fumbled a little. "Looks like I'm finally taller."

Instead of retorting with a comeback, she growled, "What's next on the list?" and stomped to the next aisle where she began to shovel other small knickknacks from the shelves without bothering to wait for Soul. She was still fierce indeed, Soul thought as he rounded the corner. Although he didn't quite understand her in ways he had in the past, and although he knew letters couldn't tell more than the writer wanted to show, he still wanted to know more about the person that he was reunited with- no matter how much they've changed since then.

He wondered if she wanted to get to know him more as well.

After leaving the shop with their purchased goods and a promise to return for a bulk order if all goes well, they began their trip down to Rowanworks Co., a woodworking shop that was next on Wes' recommended stores. How he came to gather these mom-and-pop stores with reliable service, Soul didn't know, but Maka was at least pleased to support the smaller businesses tucked away within the shopping center's corners. As they walked, Soul couldn't help but notice the few planter boxes along the side of the road with hardy looking flora.

"I thought plants couldn't survive outside of designated areas?"

"Ah, my godfather's wife, an Earth Child, brought these in from her hometown in the mountains and made a proposal to the board a few years back to 'liven up the place,' or so she says. I can tell she just misses colors that are more… 'organic.' Surprisingly enough, there are also a few vegetables that can survive this height. She brings extras to the manor quite often."

"Remarkable. The weather is fair today, wouldn't you say? Though how would you know, considering your altitude—ouch!"

Maka stared grimly as Soul doubled over to rub his shin. "It's fine from up here, though I'm sure you'll experience a little dust in your eye from down there."

"No, no. None at all," he said as he discreetly dabbed his eyes with his sleeves. "Iron heels should never be allowed to come into contact with another person's flesh and bone."

"Hmm, what was that? I can't quite hear from the noise of the streets."

Soul decided not to respond again, but he did wonder why the city seemed to be more restless as they walked down the main road. He took the moment to peek at the pedestrians, finding that they were looking right… at him?

Truth be told, he panicked. _Hard._

He was never comfortable with attention, and the sudden realization of his audience caused anxiety to bubble up his throat. Was it because of his sudden movement? Could it be that they recognized him by his "esteemed" lineage? But that wouldn't have been able to gather as much attention as he had now. There were eyes all over him, watching, _preying._ They were whispering at one another, covering their mouth with their hands as they leaned into the other person's ear. A sharp giggle sliced through whatever calm Soul tried to keep as more gleeful squeals echo'd through his already overpowered senses.

He shut his eyes, certain that it would help stop the world from spinning. If he could just have a moment to pause time… If only he was given a moment to breathe, he thought. And as he did so, a hand touched his shoulder, supporting him in a familiar warmth he hadn't felt in years.

"Soul? Come on, it didn't hurt that much, did it? Oh dear, I may have swung harder than I meant to."

"No, I'm fine," he said, gently resting his hand over hers. When he did so, a fresh new wave of noise from the crowd travelled to his ears, hitting a bell in his thoughts. Call it his "Ah!" moment. "Hey, let's look at the cafe here. There's something interesting that I want to try." Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her in.

The interior was an odd color. It was brighter- _greener_ _and whiter_ than the city combined. Little gears imbedded into the walls turned rapidly, and it took Soul a moment to realize they were moving tables and copper decorative vines to new places every few minutes, slowly but surely. With pots of tea and tea cups present at every table, there was an air of regency that Soul could detect immediately. No ordinary customer was allowed to enter. Perfect.

"Table for two?"

A robotic voice spoke from overhead, and Soul could only look around in shock as Maka shook her head, taking the initiative while he fumbled with his words. Although she was confused, she had a better grasp of the environment than Soul, explaining curtly about voice command and advanced tech being used for identification. She looked over to him for confirmation after asking for a table.

"Yeah, please."

Upon hearing his words, the room began to shift again, this time making a small pathway to a table and two chairs that released a bit of smoke by the window. The furniture stopped its rotation long enough for both Maka and Soul to seat themselves, resuming its calm merry-go-round like state when they became situated. In front of them, a kettle began to boil its contents.

"Well?" Maka said, leaning on an elbow. "Something tells me you didn't come in for the tea."

He took a moment to consider his thoughts. "Well… there were a lot of people around us today," he began, stroking the tea cup's rim with a finger as he looked around for eavesdroppers.

"Yes? And?"

"I don't think that it was a coincidence."

"So?"

"It's probably caused by something."

"And what would that be?"

Soul dropped his head onto the table. He mumbled, "It's us."

"It's what?"

"It's us," he repeated, this time looking up at her bewildered face. "Listen. This sort of thing happens when two people make the front page. People begin to follow you because they feel entitled to a piece of your private life- so that's that they're doing to us."

"They're stalking us?" Maka said, shocked.

"They're 'curious'," Soul nodded. "They want to see if those headlines are true. Maka, to keep up this facade- for the benefactors, we may have to play along with what they want or else people will start to catch on-"

The kettle whistled loudly, interrupting Soul. Maka took the opportunity to snatch it first and poured herself, then Soul, dark tea to the brim. She distracted herself with a comment about how hot the tea was, nonetheless taking a sip and burning her tongue in the process. He could tell that she was being avoidant, but eventually, Maka sighed.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I think you know."

She looked into the cup with distaste. "This project may be more trouble than it's worth. If I wanted to be media bait, I would have appeared in public with Papa."

"You're in luck, you get to appear in public with me," Soul sniffed, raising his cup in between them.

Although she wasn't pleased, she clinked her own cup with his, and they took a heavy gulp together, scalding their throats in the process. With their faces flushed and their voices raspy, Maka stood to face the door.

"Let's introduce the happy couple then."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_**

There wasn't anything more exhausting than fronting romance to an audience. Every outing, every appearance, _every moment_ was a photo opportunity for their supporters. The public relished every touch between Soul and Maka, hyper-analysing their non-existent love and chemistry as if the two had any to begin with. As uncomfortable as the attention was, Maka was pleased to see support emerge from the tightest pockets and stiffest folds, all of whom expressed their blessings to the couple.

Soon after a tiring month of exposure though, the pair dedicated three months of hard work, building, tweaking, arguing, and grinding that resulted in a single Steam Victor prototype. When the partners finally appraised their own craftsmanship, Maka felt like she could cry.

"Soul," Maka said, pursing her lips. "It looks _awful."_

They knew from the start that the Pegasus would be more _art noveau_ than the average Death City resident was used to. The outer shell of the device was constructed from swirling pieces of metal shaped by Soul and brass gears placed and polished by Maka. The torso and legs to the horse were indeed impressive.

No, the problem was the Pegasus head, which appeared to have its gnarled snout stuck in mid-sneer. The horse's glassy, lifeless eyes were haunting. The mechanisms Maka had installed to give it some automated actions jerked and squealed with every movement. The overall effect was that of a possessed animal laughing at you.

The pair stared at the abomination they created together, trying to come up with a decent comment about the final product.

"I was going for 'Night Mare,'" Soul said.

"Your morbid wordplay isn't going to sell us any units, Soul." Maka ran her hand through her blonde bangs. "How are we supposed to convince people to trust our product if it looks like a demon?"

"I think it looks fine," he said. Even after so many years apart, Maka still knew Soul's minute expressions well enough to tell when he was swallowing offense. "The only reason it looks so uncanny is because it moves of its own volition. I told you that we shouldn't strive to be so realistic."

"That horrific face _you_ made is realistic?"

"I can tweak it. You should fix the interior so it stops rocking side to side like an undead horror."

"I spent half a day installing those gears, and it would take just as long to remove them."

Soul clapped his hands together. "Then you better hop to it, post haste."

Huffing, Maka headed over to a store room to dig out some tools and formulate a game plan for the Pegasus' face lift. This specific part of the prototype was for aesthetic purposes only, but it was an absolute bitch to put together. Though she knew doing her due diligence and getting it right would pay off in the future, it felt like going back to square one. There were better uses for these wasted hours.

Like courting more investors through public dates with Soul.

Tiptoeing around Death City with Soul under secret pretenses was an addictive thrill. After such a long break out of the public eye, Maka's heart pulsed to go on another date again, but better. More elaborate and convincing. So convincing, in fact, that maybe she would cast away her doubts and fully believe the lie.

One of her father's favorite mottos was 'fake it until you make it.' Maka never asked him how long the faking phase lasted. She really wished she had.

Back in the workshop, she heard Soul call out to her. "Maka, you didn't tighten this screw half way. The tension will make the entire thing-" A resounding crash of metal clanging on the floor and screws scattering shut him up. Maka rushed back into the mainroom and skidded to a halt when she saw what Soul had done.

The Pegasus was a horror before. Things were worse now that it was dismembered and headless. In tweaking screws and nuts and bolts, Soul had done Maka the singular favor of taking their work apart.

The long night ahead of her drained Maka of her anger. "You just gave me another hour of extra work," she stated. Adding in the rework of the Steam Victor skull, she might be in for an all-nighter.

"I'm a classically trained sculptor, not a wrench boy," he sputtered.

"Maybe you should let the self-taught engineer take the lead here and apply your artistry to something else. Like our horse's head."

For once, Soul didn't argue. They swapped places as he got up off the floor and Maka knelt to get started reattaching the legs. She picked up one of the graceful legs they had built together and ran her legs along the metal. He had made this one. Sure she gave him trouble for setting her workflow back, but Maka couldn't deny that Soul's level of artistry far outclassed her own.

"Hey, Soul?" Maka looked over her shoulder and saw Soul backpedal out of the hall.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"We haven't had any outings in a while." They locked eyes. "Don't you think it's about time we planned-"

"Yes," Soul answers. He colored slightly and swallowed. "I mean, I agree. You can never have too much capital, and though our methods are unorthodox, they are working. Plus we've been so busy lately. Perhaps we deserve a break. An evening out."

Maka chewed her cheek. For some reason, she thought suggesting another date to Soul would be more difficult. But he was ever the pragmatist, always thinking of their shared goals, always willing to follow her lead and throw support behind her ideas. If there was any other emotion underneath his assent, Maka didn't see it. And that stung.

"Yes, an evening out," Maka agreed. Calling it a date felt presumptuous. It would be as Soul said, an opportunity to let off steam, relax, and get more funding. That was all.

The two returned to their own tasks, hands molding metal and adjusting screws as their minds wandered elsewhere. After spending her evening reconstructing their prototype, Maka decided to forgo the allnighter and get some shuteye. Sleep did help the imagination flourish after all.

The next morning, Maka had a plan to get their project rolling again. She left her estate early, careful to not make much noise lest she wake Soul from his slumber. Outside the garden gate, her boots kicked up gravel and dirt as she followed a winding path towards her workshop at the edge of the estate.

She spotted a slip of paper attached to the door as she traveled up the path. Neighbors complaining about the sound of saw grinding steel, she thought. Nothing unusual.

Instead, Maka found a charming little threat.

 _You will get what you deserve soon._

Between her father's philandering and her own penchant for infuriating men who thought highly of themselves, passive aggressive notes weren't very unusual on the Albarn property either. Maka ripped the note off the door and stowed it in her pocket.

The workshop door was unlocked. Now this was truly unusual. She rubbed the note between her fingers inside her pocket as she pushed open the door. At first glance, nothing was out of place. Then she found Soul in yesterday's clothes, half-asleep on her desk. At some point in the night, he had commandeered her desk and started scribbling new ideas for the horse head. Rejected leafs of paper were piled on the desk, in the trashcan, on the floor.

Judging from his crooked posture and low, unending groan, Soul could be suffering from only one thing: art block.

Maka briefly left him in the workshop to ask the servants to deliver them tea and coffee. Soul would clearly need it soon. When she returned, she saw that her partner had roused from his half-sleep to look at his night's work with despondance. When he noticed her presence, he tried to flatten himself against her desk until he melted away completely.

"I tender my resignation," Soul mumbled.

Maka crossed her arms. "Yes you've hit a creative snag, but we'll overcome it together." Spying a small design on a scrap of paper by his elbow, Maka picked it up. "How about this one? I think it's nice."

Soul glanced at it, rolled his eyes, and slumped back over his desk. "Do me a favor and throw that trash in the incinerator. Burn it all."

"Oh, come now. Leave the theatrics to your brother. Let's take another look at your original designs and see where everything went wrong."

"Can't find 'em," Soul said bluntly.

This gave Maka pause. "What?"

"They weren't with my things. Or in that-that box." His eyes flicked towards the letterbox where she stored their correspondence over the years. Maka went white. "It's not just my drawings that vanished. The tools I was borrowing yesterday afternoon aren't where I thought I left them. I suspect I threw them away on accident because I was too exhausted to pay attention. I promise I'll replace everything, when, er, if I get the money _._ "

A threatening note meant nothing. An unlocked door was worrisome. Disappeared blueprints were catastrophic. They normally locked up the workshop tight when they left in the evening, but if Soul fell asleep at her desk he might not have remembered. Was there thieving afoot? The individual who pinned the note on the door might have snuck inside while Soul slept unaware. Or did he just misplace her rusty tools and his design of the Steam Victor head?

In the end, it didn't matter. After all, she kept the most important and confidential of their documents in a safe in her closet. Everything worth patenting-namely the work she developed with her mentor-was locked away. Soul's blueprints were valuable, but it was nothing they couldn't recreate or redesign to be even better.

So Maka gathered up his rejected ideas and fired up the incinerator. Burning the scraps of failure was a cathartic exercise. Soul brightened up immediately. Maka had half a mind to toss her letterbox in wholesale, but in the end she treasured its contents too well.

She didn't throw in the threatening note, but she didn't mention it to Soul either. Best not to worry Soul with speculation and flimsy threats, especially when he was so stressed already. Onward and upward.

A servant bearing a tray of coffee and biscuits glided into the room. After delivering the goods, the servant whispered to Maka that a Mrs. Stein was waiting for her in the parlor. Her godmother, Marie Stein, had come to call. Face lit up like a Death City steam-powered Christmas tree, Maka asks that Marie be escorted to the workshop at once.

Maka had first become acquainted with the lovely Mrs. Stein through her godfather and mentor, Franken Stein. Marie was a small woman who exuded elegance, sunshine and raw power. Though Stein danced around it for years, the pair eloped to Earth and returned to Death City with a baby on the way. At the time, the scandal made Marie a pariah. But once the gossips realized that Marie cared not a whit of what they thought, the ostracization stopped.

With a small amount of dread, Maka waited for Marie to arrive and take a look at their prototype.

Marie, bless her, did not wince or make a face when looked at the Steam Victor. She just cocked her head to the side.

"Very fine craftsmanship, thought it doesn't really say 'Death City' to me," Marie said. The clock embedded in her eyepatch ticked as she tapped her chin. "But it does remind me of Old Town. Is that what you are going for?"

Maka jumped to her feet immediately. "Old Town! Of course!" To her confused partner, she explained, "Oldtown DC has some of the oldest and most unique architecture in the city. It might be worth a visit, for inspiration. And we've been talking about taking a break."

"Old Town is a very romantic neighborhood near sundown," Marie mused, tapping her chin. "Lovebirds like you two could certainly stand a romantic evening walk, right?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

"Must we turn everything into a spectacle?" Soul grimaced, resting a hand onto Maka's hip as they fit together, just as they practiced months before. He shuffled stiffly towards the entrance, bemoaning the speculation that photographers were positioned at every corner, waiting to catch a glimpse of the _lovely_ couple. "I thought this would be relaxing!"

"It will be," Maka hissed.

He tugged her body to his, adjusting his bag and bringing her ear closer to his lips. "And when will that be again?" Upon hearing a shriek from the a group of pedestrians, he shot her another look of pain.

It was Maka's idea to take her carriage to "show everyone that they were both going out again." Although Soul protested against it, Maka, who had never been the long term target of the media before, insisted. Once they hit the main roads, they had garnered enough attention to call a small crew of reporters and newsboys who ran just ahead of the carriage to see where they were headed. The moment that they turned onto Headstonework Ave, the rest of the mass caught onto their destination- the only worthy place to visit at the end of the road.

Upon their arrival, cameras flashed as though they had been waiting for hours. Curious citizens peered over the top of each others' heads while teenagers made their utmost effort to squeeze to the front. No matter where they were, whether it was the ground or the sky, Soul found that everyone wanted to invade other people's lives.

Maka froze at the sight of the crowd when she first poked her head out. Even if Soul had wanted her to reconsider how much public scrutiny was good versus unnecessary, there was no satisfaction to be felt when he had to peel her nails from the coach. When her feet touched the ground, the sound of metal brought her back from her stage fright, and she gave Soul her best face in response to an "I told you so" that he had no intention on giving.

"So? How do we ditch them? They took the bait but now what do we do?" Soul said impatiently. He could tell that Maka was silently fuming from under her beautiful smile and gritting teeth, but _damn it, Maka. Get us out of this mess!_

"Secret tunnels that lead deeper into town," she answered swiftly. "Give them three minutes of photography by the entrance and then we can get to the good stuff. Deal?"

"Fine, deal."

When Maka said "deeper," Soul didn't realize that she meant "deeper into the ground." She gave the interviewers a sly smile, pulling Soul away and giving their viewers the universal "stay put" signal. Together, they ran into Old Town, but instead of going down the main road, she ducked into the closest building on their left.

"Alright, there's a tunnel here that will lead us away from this mess. This is the quickest way to downtown."

"In the rundown post office?" Soul said, still following her across the lobby to the back office. "This is… random?"

"Honestly Soul, if you really think about it, it's not that farfetched. How else do you think the post got to everyone everyday before steam?"

"Touche. No wonder they didn't hire Wes in his younger years. He would have let the secret out even before he started."

Maka snorted, reaching for her thigh as Soul averted his eyes. He remembered the mini pouch she kept strapped to her leg since they were twelve. Inside were custom made tools with several different uses hidden in tiny separate compartments like a swiss army knife. Her explanation? She liked to travel as light as possible, and she liked to be prepared. To an unknowing eye, one such tool, the screwdriver, appeared normal, but after several taps in the right places, it could produce pliers, clippers, a nail file, and even a lock pick. A few seconds with said lock pick with a worn file cabinet revealed another set of specially made, mix matched keys.

"Ah ha! And now, we travel in style!" Maka said with glee.

She skipped to the shelf and fiddled with another box, inserting one of the new keys into a space Soul couldn't tell. He grew more and more curious as the sound of tinkling gears grew louder. The shelf began to swing open from the wall, but Maka took the sides and finished the job, singing a "ta da." Behind her was a dark, narrow compartment that could easily fit one person with two pully chains stationed at the very back.

"This isn't what you meant by tunnel was it?" Soul started.

"Yes, yes it was," Maka smiled, pushing Soul into the space and fitting herself alongside her. "Now down we go!"

Eventually, the two were able to emerge back onto the surface level to a place where Soul had never been. It was the center of Old Town from what Soul could make out, but he saw the buildings move as he poked his head out, travelling side to side, becoming absorbed into the ground and some popping out of it to become seven stories tall. Some buildings even combined together or separated into several entities. The town itself was in constant motion.

He forgot his manners and whispered a small, "Holy fuck."

"Holy fuck indeed," Maka said with her hands on her hips. "Everything out here that's moving runs on kinetic energy and there are a couple more layers of this below too. Eventually, people began to grow tired, dizzy, or a combination of the two so they expanded outwards, built the Death City we know now. An accident separated this part with the entranceway, and it broke the mechanics over there a generation ago. Professor Stein really likes tinkering here though, so sometimes I tag along with him through the tunnels. He says this place turns his gears and his inspiration."

"I'll bet," Soul said, still in awe. He sat himself down on the ground and flipped to a new page in his sketch pad.

The sun was just setting over the cityline. Light bounced off the side of the accented brick walls, giving the entire town an ethereal glow. He could understand why Mrs. Stein called the ambiance romantic, and maybe Stein took her to the same place he was now. A few statues of abstract swirls danced, following a few of the building as they took turns down a returning street. As he watched, he noticed that not everything traveled continuously. It was a timed system.

"Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I think that fountain passed us twice," Maka laughed.

He turned to see her face full of joy, an expression that he hadn't seen since he arrived at Death City. In the garage where Maka worked, she was tense and stressed from the project. Not even the rumbling of her machines gave her peace. At her manor, Maka also never seemed to be happy no matter which room she shut herself in. She didn't belong in that place, she would mutter, rolling her eyes at gowns her staff fitted her in every day.

Here, Maka was free.

Just as she once was when they were children.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I always have."

And he felt he always would be in love with her. From the day they first chanced upon each other in Maka's mother's shop to tomorrow- she was special to him in more ways than one.

They literally ran into each other that day when Soul entered, curious of the doo-hickies and thing-a-ma-bobs that hung in the window. He learned that it was a place to exchange spare parts later in his life, but in that moment, it was a treasure trove of mysterious things. And sometimes, the best mystery was one that presented itself unexpectedly.

Maka Albarn, adventurer and inventor at age five, headbutted Soul right in the stomach as she pretended to be an animal from the ground. She was breathtaking from the moment they met-just too literally for Soul to really appreciate.

He remembered the moment fondly as he sketched her likeliness, making sure that he captured her spirit in his art as Maka twirled on her lonesome towards the center of the town. There, she examined a panel in the ground, pushing it down to open a secret opening. She pulled out a miniature figurine of a rhino the size of two fists and brought it over to him. Before she reached him, Soul flipped to the next page, swearing to return to complete the drawing later.

"I used to build things with wire that Stein brought with him," she explained, placing her figurine into his palm. "This beauty was made after a very faithful day, if you remember it. There's more hidden around the area too."

Soul couldn't help but to tease her. "Are you sure it's a beauty? I mean, with your expertise."

"It's better than what you designed for the 'Pegasus' at least," she retorted. "Besides, I was five. Give me a break."

Honestly? She was right. His original design was too horrific, like he was summoning his doubts and slapping them together into metal. There was a deadness to it that no one would appreciate, and if he wanted to make any sales at all, he had to appeal to the masses.

Mrs. Stein had been generous when she said it resembled Old Town, because there was nothing here as far as he could tell that screamed "death horse" besides himself. Instead, Soul let the aesthetics and new surroundings inspire a new design- a better one that truly captured Death City.

Rust and a generous bit of trapped dirt was brushed over almost every surface. The ground was slightly warm from the touch of the sun and the heat of machinery at work. Tiny gears infallibly continued to bring their surroundings to life. To life.

"Maka? Do you think we could give Steam Victor some personality? I don't know… Maybe a personal factor to make it more likable? Everything we've done so far made it dull and closer to a vehicle instead of a pegasus."

"You have a point there." Maka sat down next to him. "I feel like there's something missing that we haven't considered yet. Something that could also connect both design and function better than what we have now."

"What should we do then?" Soul sighed, starting a new sketch of a horse while he observed the changing sea of buildings.

Silence answered him, so he took the chance to draft some ideas before they disappeared.

Soon after his fourth page, Maka stood up, reaching down for Soul's hand. "Let's go find 'The Heart' before the sun goes down. Stein said that searching for it always helps you find what you're looking for, even with things you didn't know you needed."

"Some advice. Is he a researcher or is he a philosopher?"

"Is it fair to say a little bit of both?

As they traveled down the road hand in hand, the sun continued to set, casting a maroon light over the copper fixtures. The street lamps lost their flame years ago, but refracting rays provided them with enough shine to resemble a faint fire. Soul sighed- romantic indeed.

"So what does Stein do? And what's 'The Heart' that you wanted to find?"

"Easy explanation first: 'The Heart' is just another sculpture that moves around the area, but it's unpredictable. Instead of being connected to anything though, it floats around on it's own power. Stein's research is based on what it's made of too: Aurite, a precious metal that can harvest living energy- Wait."

Soul paused with her. "What? Wait what?"

"Aurite! That's what we're missing for Steam Victor!" Maka beamed. "It produces extremely natural energy from being exposed to living beings, and it runs for an incredible amount of time. One of it's qualities is that it gradually changes to fit someone's essence if they're the only one near it, which is why 'The Heart' currently resembles Stein so much- Oh! Stein- he can help us get it!"

He bursted into a wide smile. "It's perfect! It would give the life that Steam Victor needs too!"

"Soul, it's not even on the market yet. If we can obtain it-"

"It'd secure our project and even-"

"Boost profits and make a huge contribution to research everywhere! The sky is our limit!" Maka squealed, squeezing his hand tighter.

They were giddy, excited, _ecstatic_ of their revelation. There wasn't anything more joyous than this moment at the peak of dusk; the sun disappeared but Soul could still see the glow on Maka's face as they pressed their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to twirl her in the air and show just how grateful he was to this wonderful, creative, innovative girl he came to know. But before he let his impulse dictate his actions, another source of light appeared from behind him.

It was 'The Heart of the City' itself, floating closer to them in all its silvery glory. It stopped just in front of them, barely long enough for Soul to study its mechanics and the gears that turned just on the outside of its surface and within the transparent panels.

"This is the first time I've found it alone," Maka breathed, "and the first time it ever found me."

"It's beautiful," he agreed, pulling Maka into a hug before they both left Old Town.

Telephones were one of the only technological innovations in Death City that actually came from Earth. Soul was honestly surprised to see one similar to telephone in his father's old study sitting in the foyer of the Albarn estate. Holding the round receiver to her ear, Maka turned the rotary dial using a spare pencil and waited for an operator to connect her to one Professor Franken Stein.

Soul had never met him face to face, only heard about him from letters after he took Maka under his wing. He didn't know what to make of him. It was one of the small mysteries he hoped to solve by listening in on the phone call beside his partner.

When the call connected, static crackled through the receiver.

They heard a husky cough, and Maka smiled. "Professor Stein! It's me. I know it's late, but I have some questions-"

"For the final time, tell him there is no cure. He just needs to drink water and wait for it to pass."

Maka rolled her eyes. "I'm not calling about my drunk papa this time. I've just visited the Heart of the city and I've realized that Soul and I need Aurite for our invention. Can you supply us some of yours?"

"I'm sorry Maka, I cannot legally distribute Aurite." Soul's shoulders slumped, but Maka waited. She knew there was more to come. "However," Stein continued, "I might know a supplier who does. It's pricy though, and it'll be up to you to refine the material for your project."

"We have the budget!" Maka exclaimed. "Any figure will do. God knows Soul and I have done more than enough fundraising to pay for it."

"Be careful," Stein warned. "This is the sort of purchase people are bound to notice, especially since it's not a metal available to the public. Don't try to draw too much attention to yourselves, lest you attract the wrong sort. The guy I know is attending another event where you can meet him at to converse, but perhaps it's wise to put off your order until after Featherstone's ball."

Her face went blank. Maka pressed the phone's mouthpiece to her shoulder and mouthed _What?_ to Soul. He responded by shrugging and shaking his head at the same time. They couldn't even walk in public without behind hounded. How could they survive a _ball?_

"Marie meant to deliver your invitation personally when she visited this morning. She and Nora are such great friends," Stein said languidly. "It appears she forgot."

"When is it?" Maka asked.

"Four days time. I hope this gives you enough notice. Featherstone will be disappointed if you don't show." Soul felt an impending sense of doom. They were officially in too depp.

"Will you be there?"

"Absolutely not. But you two have fun. Dance your lovesick hearts out."

Stein was trying to make a joke, but neither Soul or Maka laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

Maka adjusted her hat as she waited for Soul's carriage to arrive at the Albarn manor to take her to Lord Featherstone's ball. They would have departed for the ball already, but given the state of her and Soul's so-called relationship, it would only attract further gossip if they arrived separately or emerged from her home at the same time and she had already her fill of being the subject of such rumors for several lifetimes.

Her fingers tapped against her umbrella as she glanced through her parlor window at the grey skies painting the world in a muted light. The knot coiling in her stomach was only impatience to be gone already or nerves over presenting their technology, she told herself, and nothing else. She had accompanied Soul to other balls before and hadn't felt such nervous anticipation. It had to be anxiety over sharing a piece of her life's work with complete strangers.

Inhaling deeply, she smoothed out the the teal skirt of her dress a final time and patted the gear sewn onto the bow at her waist. It matched the smaller gears lining the hem, but she had made an alteration to this one and embedded it with Aurite in its center. Perhaps it would be more than slightly scandalous to ruin her dress to present a small prototype at a ball, but if she and Soul wanted to be the first ones to use Aurite in a commercial venture, they had to resort to more unconventional methods.

And if any of Lord Featherstone's friends had half the soft spot he had for a pair of inventors in love, then an actual demonstration of Aurite technology along with their charade would have them reaching for their checkbooks in no time.

For not the first time, Maka wondered exactly what they were going to tell their investors once they got Steam Victor off the ground. She and Soul couldn't keep up the facade, nor was it fair of her to ask him to try, especially if he found someone he actually wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

She bit her lip, feeling a sting in her chest. Why was it becoming so hard to remind herself that this relationship wasn't real?

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She started and found Soul's face in much closer proximity than expected. The warmth of his skin bled through her glove and to her fingers as she pushed his face away and rose. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I called your name and you didn't answer. What's wrong?"

She fought the blush crawling up her neck. "Nothing is wrong. And you could have met me outside."

"I came to escort you like a proper gentleman," he said, proffering his arm. "And I don't need an extra lecture from my dear brother on how to treat my fiancee."

"So kind," she replied with a roll of her eyes as she accepted his arm and they walked out to the carriage. "I'm swooning."

"You might want to save that for the ball," he advised, helping her into the carriage. "Everyone there will eat that right up."

Maka's laugh cut short, the stinging in her chest moving up to her throat. "Right."

There was a brief silence as the carriage gets moving. Soul spoke first. "You never told me what was wrong."

Outside, the rain that has been threatening to fall all day finally began to come down. Maka closed her window and relaxed back in her seat, watching as rivulets form in the streets. "That's because everything is fine."

"You always bite your lip when something is bothering you," he countered. "When we were kids, I practically had to wrestle the answer out of you when you'd do that."

If she hadn't looked at him, she would have followed his line of playful teasing but she does look at him. A sharp edge entered her voice. "I already told you, there's _nothing_ wrong."

Soul studied her for a moment and then he leaned back in his seat. "If you say so."

The rest of the ride to the manor was quiet, Soul seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts while Maka wrested with regret. She couldn't apologize without explaining her hopeless crush on her best friend and she refused to lie to Soul.

She still hasn't reached a decision when they arrived at the manor but still opens her mouth. "Soul, I-"

He cut her off. "It's okay."

"No," she said, "I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just that-"

She broke off as the carriage door opened.

As Soul helped down the carriage steps, he said in a low voice, "You don't have to say it, I already know."

Maka's heart plummeted to the bottom of her stomach and it takes all of her years of learning to keep her composure with the most obnoxious of people to hold her voice steady. "You do?"

"Of course, it's obvious enough, isn't it?" he replied as they made their way into Featherstone's foyer, making her heart sink straight through her stomach and down to Earth.

She managed to find her voice. "It is?"

Soul nodded. "Working under a deadline and having to hear all these rumors is enough to make anyone snap."

" _Oh._ " Relief mixed with something that feels oddly of regret kept Maka from correcting Soul before he spoke again.

He lowered his voice even further as they walked into a crowded ballroom, bedecked in colorful solar lights as a quintet made up of two cello and violin players and a harp player strike up a merry tune. "I have news on the latter, by the way."

This temporarily distracted her. "What news?"

Their conversation was interrupted by an influx of people swarming over to them. Some offered their congratulations on their relationship while others asked about their progress on their project. Despite her impatience to hear what Soul had to say, Maka took careful note to talk those who asked about their work later on.

Finally after the last guest cleared from their path and they made their greeting to Lord Featherstone, they walked to one of the emptier parts of the room and watched the couples dancing in the middle of the ballroom. A waiter came up to them, offering cups of spiced cider that they accepted.

"So," Soul began, "While we've been breaking our backs trying to save my family from ruination, Wes has been frequenting gambling dens. To _mingle,_ apparently. That's where he found out who started the rumors of us dating in the first place."

"Oh, this will be good," Maka snorted. "Let me guess, a gossip writer looking to make a quick buck." She took a sip of her cider.

"Not quite," Soul answered. "He told me it was Daisy Minxette and Lenora Scalton."

Maka choked and barely avoided sending out a spray of cider onto Soul's black suit, letting out a strangled cough that sent a flutter of alarmed exclamations from the guests around them. She fended off their concerned looks with a wave of her hand and a small smile she massaged her throat.

She felt Soul's fingers graze the inside of her forearm before abruptly dropping away. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine." Even with the anger boiling in her blood, she kept her smile in place as she regained her composure and tilted her head towards Soul's, speaking in a low voice. "Who did you say started the rumors again?"

Soul met her eyes. "You know her."

Images of Scalton flouncing around Maka's home at midnight, as if she had every right to be there, and of her clinging to her father's arm as if she were drowning when he had finally given her the boot flashed through Maka's mind. She bit down on a bitter laugh. "Yes- well, I know one of them."

Soul stayed silent as she took another sip of cider and she knows it is because he knows she isn't finished talking and the fact makes her stomach flip in an odd way.

She spoke after a moment. "Lenora was my father's lover from a long time ago." She wrinkled her nose. "Latched onto him like grease to skin." She paused, chewing on her words. "They did not end on the nicest of notes. I think my father was actually happy to see her gone. Perhaps not _vanished,_ but gone."

"A first." Soul shifted the topic, as if sensing her growing unease with the subject. "So you think Scalton and Minxette started the rumors for what, revenge?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," she said, moving her gaze back to the dancers in the middle of the floor. "Scalton hated me and Papa with all of her bitter heart up until she was gone. Minxette is petty and a vile gossip so I should have seen this coming."

"It still doesn't make it right," he replied. "I've been on the receiving end of a couple pretty nasty rumors and even though you know it's not true, it still hurts."

By the sudden guardedness in his tone and expression, Maka knew he was thinking about the rumors that'd spun when his career had failed to take off, that his eccentricity was not of the creative sort but merely of the uncomfortable and socially unacceptable kind.

"If she thought this would hurt me, she's sorely mistaken." She kept her eyes on the dancers in front of her. "You're the only person I'd agree to fake a relationship with."

"There's the happy couple," a familiar voice boomed before Soul could respond. Lord Featherstone strode up to the pair, glass of amber-colored sherry in his hand. "How are you enjoying my little soiree?"

"Lord Featherstone." Maka fell into her socialite voice, linking arms with Soul for added effect. "We were just commenting on how lovely your manor is. And the band playing is delightful."

"That's what I like to hear." Featherstone beamed. "And how fares your project?"

"It's coming along quite well," Maka said eagerly, reaching for the gear on her dress. "Perhaps if you'd like to show your friends exactly where your money is go-"

"Oh, that's wonderful," interrupted Featherstone. "But why aren't you dancing?"

"I-what?" "Maka attempted to steer his attention back to business. "Perhaps after we talk-"

"Ah but the song is just ending and I don't believe anyone's ever had the pleasure of seeing the two of you dance." Featherstone winked cheerily. "And how well a couple dances together is an indication of how their marriage will fare after all, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure if there's any scientific basis-"

"We'd love to dance," Soul interjected.

Maka threw Soul a pointed look. "No, _dear,_ I think it would be rude to interrupt our conversation for a dance."

"I'm sure Lord Featherstone would be happy to continue our conversation after he watches our dance." There was none of the usual awkwardness present in his voice or demeanor that Soul wore as shield against conversation at events like these. "Wouldn't he?"

"But of course," Featherstone agreed. "Now hurry, the dance is about to begin and it's the waltz. Perfect for a new couple like yourselves!"

"Why did you do that?" Maka whispered under her breath as they walked off.

"He wasn't going to listen to you," Soul whispered back.

"I was going to make him listen," she shot back.

"You mean make him uninterested." They fell into step with the new set of dancers lining up. Soul faced her. "Maka, I've met too many men like Featherstone. They don't listen till they get what they want. I'm just trying to help."

"I know, thank you" she sighed, indignation deflating. She placed her hand on his shoulder and took his hand with the other, ignoring the way her heart picked up speed. Dropping her voice back to a near whisper, she muttered, "It's just I don't know how to dance."

Soul blinked as the music began to swell, signaling the start of the dance. "But didn't you take dance lessons when we were younger?"

"Yes, but that didn't mean I was any good at them," she whispered back, moving in small careful steps. "I memorized the dances but every time I danced with someone, they ended up with bruised toes."

"You're doing fairly well right now," he pointed out. "Just remember to smile and not look like you want to bite my head off and we'll be golden."

"I can either smile or focus on not stepping on your feet," she hissed through her teeth. "But not both."

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Am I hearing correctly? Is this the infamous Maka 'No Challenge is Too Big for Me' Albarn admitting defeat?"

"Of course not." She hated and loved how he knew the exact words to goad her into succeeding out of spite. "What do I need to do?"

"Just let me lead, follow my steps." His fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers and sent a thrill that shouldn't exist through her palm. "That's it."

She hid the tremor in her voice. "I'm not fight-" Maka stopped herself and let out a breath. "Okay."

Their steps broadened and quietly, she began to panic. When has she ever trusted anyone enough to let them take the lead on something?

"You don't have to think about it." Soul's thumb ran across her gloved knuckles, ruining her concentration. "Just feel it."

Maka nodded and tried to empty her mind. Rooting her gaze on the floor would help but it would certainly sell to no one that they were a couple in love. His eyes were too dangerous to look at right now so she chose to stare at his mouth, timing her breaths with his.

As their breathing became in sync, she slowly felt herself relax and her feet slip into the rhythm of the music. Excitedly, Maka looked up at Soul to tell him but her words died on her lips the moment they locked eyes.

She was sure Soul could hear her heart from how loud it was pounding in her chest and every part of her screamed for her to look somewhere else but she was frozen in his gaze and for some reason, so was Soul.

They continued to gaze at each other and even when the dance ended and the music stopped, their connection did not break.

Finally, they broke away and spoke at the same time. "I-"

Soul gestured at Maka when she stopped. "Go ahead."

Something told her she should insist he go first but she ignored it. "I was going to say I suppose we should go talk to Featherstone now," she said awkwardly.

"Right," he agreed. "Should we-?"

"After you tell me what you wanted to say," Maka said, stomach doing somersaults. Her heart should not beat so fast in anticipation nor should her mouth be so dry but she could not bring herself to care anymore.

Just as Soul opened his mouth, Featherstone walked up to them, exclaiming what a magnificent couple they made. She took his comments of their dance of "simply beautiful" and "absolutely mesmerizing" with an absent-minded smile and nearly missed his offer to introduce the pair to his circle of friends.

Likely all Soul had wanted to tell her was what a horrible dancer she was, Maka told herself. Yet disappointment still soured her mouth as she followed Featherstone, arm linked with her fiance, and she continued to wonder: what had Soul been about to say?


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7_**

 _DEATH CITY'S STEELHEARTS_

 _by Shaula Gorgon_

 _Despite the sudden stretch of cold weather, the love match between Lord Soul Evans and Miss Maka Albarn continues to heat up._

 _The newly engaged couple stole the show once again with their scandalous behavior and a glimpse of their forthcoming project at the second of Lord Featherstone's biannual balls, which is increasingly looking like the place for single, ambitious ladies to find a husband._

 _Multiple sources report that the newly engaged couple mostly kept to themselves in a dark corner of the ballroom during the beginning of the ball before being coaxed into dancing by Lord Featherstone himself. On the ballroom floor, it became clear as day that the pair had eyes for only the other and stared at one another unashamedly after the music ended, apparently seconds away from engaging in further indecent acts._

 _But it appears that the pair's focus was not all on pleasure. After their intimate moment on the ballroom floor, the couple simmered down and rubbed shoulders with the more elite invitees of the ball. In a clever if shameless move, Miss Albarn drew the attention of all by ripping off a gear from her dress, revealing it to be not merely a decorative piece of an otherwise plain dress but a prototype of her and Lord Evans' much-speculated project, prompting it at the hand of unseen technology to fly around the ballroom and bring drinks to Lord Featherstone's circle._

 _"It's unseemly behavior," commented Daisy Minxette, a fellow ball attendee. "But it's only what you expect from new money."_

 _Mr. Featherstone, the couple's main benefactor, appears to think otherwise. "It's absolutely delightful to see a couple's love take on such tangible and creative form," he told the Daily Death. "I look forward to seeing the final product at the end of the year. Of course, if that coincides with any honeymoon plans, allowances could be made."_

 _The couple, who have yet to give out any details for their upcoming wedding, refused to give comment or answer the Daily Death's questions on when the happy union will take place._

 _One can only wonder if this possibly spells trouble in paradise and whether this storm will affect the finishing of the couple's invention._

There was no way he could ever look Maka in the eye again, Soul thought as Wes finished reading the article aloud. Or anyone else who had read it, which seemed to be the whole of Death City judging by the stares they were getting from their fellow cafe goers.

The second floor terrace of the cafe outside of Maka's workshop was too close to the ground to make for a quick death, he decided. But it might be enough to induce a concussion and block out this whole memory.

His brother was happily oblivious to his anguish, folding up the newspaper and sighing ruefully. "I really do wish I had decided to go last night. There's never this much fun at the balls I attend."

"Maybe next time we'll swap places," Soul muttered. "You can go to the ball to be gawked at by strangers, and we'll go to the gambling dens to throw away all of our money."

Maka picked up the newspaper and spoke for the first time since Wes had interrupted their date.

(Rather, Soul liked to believe it was a date-in reality it was closer to a much-needed lunch break after working from dawn till noon had both of their stomachs growling louder than Steam Victor's engine.)

"Unseemly behavior," she mused as she perused the article, eyes narrowing more and more as her gaze traveled down the page. Soul's desire for the ground to open up and swallow him whole surged once more. "So the witch finally decided to come out in the open."

"Contemplating a murder now, are we?" Wes asked brightly. "I'd be more than happy to provide an alibi since we're to be family very soon apparently. _When_ are the nuptials supposed to take place again?"

Soul found his voice. "If that's all you came for, you can leave now," he said, hurling a miffed glare his way.

Wes clapped a hand to his chest. "I could never leave my brother unchaperoned with his intended and I am only too happy to provide my services." He reached under the table and brought out the bag he had came carrying in. "Besides, I come bearing gifts."

He pulled out a slightly dented toolbox and placed it on the table. "Got it off from a merchant airship for extra cheap. There's some scratches here and there on the tools, but I think you'll find that every tool that's gone missing in there." To his sheepish brother he added, "I don't go to gambling dens to throw away money. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"These are exactly what I need," Maka said, reaching out for the toolbox. She gave Wes an appreciative smile which sent a pang in Soul's chest that he quickly tamped down on. "There have been odd things happening in the workshop lately," she said as she examined a monkey wrench. "I keep on switching the locks to the shop but tools keep disappearing."

"Overly competitive rivals?" Wes suggested.

"Maybe," she replied. "But that wouldn't explain the note-" She cut herself off and threw a brief look at Soul, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.

"Note?" he repeated. "What note?"

"It was just before the ball," she said, still not meeting his eyes. "I found it on the shop's door when I opened up early one morning. We were preoccupied with the prototype and I didn't think it was something to be concerned about."

"What did it say?"

"It's nothing to worry about," she insisted, blush burning brighter.

Maka sighed in defeat after a minute of stubborn silence. "You'll get what you deserve soon," she said. "That's all that was written on there."

"And you think _that_ is nothing to be worried about?" Soul asked incredulously.

"I think you're forgetting that Stein is my mentor," she retorted. "I can wield a screwdriver just as well as a murder weaponl."

"Screwdriver or not, there's no way you're going alone to the Cogs to pick up our Aurite order," Soul said.

"You can't come with me, you need to work on your part of the project. We're already behind schedule enough as it is," Maka argued, eyes flashing emerald. "I'll be fine."

"Why don't I go with you?" Wes suggested.

Soul's gaze flicked over to his brother. "What?"

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've got nothing to do except watch our house fall more and more into financial ruin with each passing day so it'll be a nice break." He swept the bitterness out of his voice with an easy smile. "I'll make sure my future sister-in-law gets to and from her errand in one piece."

Soul gritted his teeth. "If you keep it up with those jokes, you won't have a future anything to worry about."

"Duly noted." Wes rose. "Well as fun as chatting with you is, it's time for me to go back to the real world and continue to stall on the papers to sign away the house."

"I suppose we should get back to work too," Maka said after Wes left. "We've still got a lot to finish before the day is over."

Soul stood. "Ready when you are."

The walk to the workshop is full of stilted exchanges and awkward silence, something that never existed between the two before, and filled Soul with a vexed glumness. Ever since "their intimate moment on the ballroom floor" at Featherstone's ball on Friday, there has been an odd tension hanging between Maka and him that halted the once natural flow of communication between them.

From the back of his mind, a voice from the back of his mind whispered that he was the one to blame and the pang in his chest twinged painfully again. He had been so sure that they had been running on the same wavelength that night, so certain that Maka was about to say she felt the same way that he obviously felt about her.

And then she had suggested they go find Featherstone, making it very clear that any real feelings in their artifice of a relationship are strictly one-sided.

It wasn't something Soul blamed her for in the least and he hadn't brought it up nor acted differently since then. But the self-doubt that resided in his mind, constantly gnawing away at his thoughts, had sent the idea running through his head that Maka _had_ sensed he was about to confess and had distanced herself to gently let him was what killed him.

He could and would happily sacrifice his romantic feelings, but he refused to have their friendship be ruined.

And it was that thought that finally broke the hold doubt had on his voice as they rounded the corner to her workshop and came to the entrance. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Maka?"

"Yes?" She fiddled with her key ring, searching for the shop key.

"Why didn't you tell me about the note?"

Her hands stilled and she met his eyes. "Because-" She hesitated. "When I said it was nothing to worry about, I meant it was nothing I wanted you to worry about."

Soul stared at her in stunned disbelief for a moment before a surprised laugh escaped from his lips. He shook his head. "You're unbelievable sometimes," he said, turning to face her directly. "Maka, you're my friend. It's one of my duties to worry."

Her face reddened. "Well then, it's my job to worry about you not worrying," she countered, twisting her lips in a half-hearted scowl.

"Stubborn beyond measure too."

"You act like that's news," she replied with a roll of her eyes, going back through sifting through the keys. "Besides even if I had told you and someone came to steal our designs or worse, what would you have done?"

"I'd throw my chisels at them."

This prompted a laugh from her. "What?"

"The art of surprise," Soul said. "Everyone expects a gun or a knife but no one expects a chisel."

An amused smile played at her mouth. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"Excellent." A warm feeling bloomed in his chest at her smile. So long as he could continue seeing that smile, he'd be happy.

Maka unlocked the door and glanced back at Soul, smile still in place. "Now, let's get back to work."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

Maka flexed her fingers and turned off her brazing torch, tugging down her mask to view her handiwork. Wetting her parched lips, she stared at her face reflected in the gleaming bronze of the still-flightless Steam Victor's underbelly, frustrated and beaded with sweat. Biting back a sigh, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her glove and called out to Soul, "I found another loose bolt in here, could you hand me the torque driver?"

"The what?"

She wheeled herself out on her mechanic's pad enough to stick out a hand. "Should be right next to the nine-gauge screwdriver in my toolbox."

The handle had barely touched her palm when she pushed it back into Soul's hand. "That's not it."

"You barely touched it!"

"An inventor knows all her tools like the back of her hand," she answered, wheeling all the way out from underneath Steam Victor and stripping off her gloves. There was only so much time she could spend working in that cramped space before she started going numb all over.

"But I need to take a break anyways." She stared up at Soul. "Do we have any more of the iced tea Marie sent over?"

He held out a hand. "I think I stored the last of it in the icebox."

"Excellent." She took his hand and pulled herself up, attributing the sudden clamminess of her palms from working on Steam Victor all day. The stutter her heart gave was from working on Steam Victor too, she decided.

She sat at a makeshift table made of an empty tool drum with crates for chairs and surveyed Steam Victor while Soul fetched the tea. They weren't making nearly as much progress as she would have liked.

Maka bit her lip-rather it was her who wasn't making progress. Soul's designs were coming together nicely but she hadn't even been able to get the flying horse to do more than hover more than a few feet off the ground. It had been impressive when she managed it months (weeks?) earlier but she should have been further along by now.

Frowning, she pushed away the worry knotting in her chest. With the shipment full of Aurite she and Wes were going to retrieve, she checked her pocket watch, in a little less than half an hour, she was going to be able to speed along and catch up to Soul in no time.

"You've got oil on your face."

Maka looked up to find Soul standing in front of her, holding two glasses. "We are in a workshop full of oil and grease in case you hadn't noticed," she replied wryly, accepting the glass he offered.

He took a seat on the crate opposite of her. "And I don't look nearly as dirty as you."

"A shame I wasn't born with your blue blood," she said, sipping her tea. "It repels the very nature of dirt."

"At least I don't go through a dozen work shirts in one week."

"Says the person who refuses to wear the same outfit to a ball more than once," she retorted.

"Society is superficial and I had to adapt." Soul dangled a napkin in front of her. "Same as you did."

Maka didn't take it, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. "If it offends your delicate sensibilities so much, get it yourself."

He raised an eyebrow. "Fine." Her eyes widened as he reached across the table and touched her face, a warm buzzing sensation spreading from where his fingers brushed across her skin.

Maka's heart drummed so loudly in her chest she was sure he could hear it and she opened her mouth to say something-anything-but she, Maka Albarn, who had no problem going toe-to-toe with anyone, couldn't even raise her eyes to meet his. And she, Maka Albarn, who could debate with anyone for hours on anything, could find exactly nothing to say.

Abruptly, Soul dropped his hand and leaned back. "All gone."

Finally finding her voice, Maka summoned all the nonchalance she could muster. "You could have used the napkin, you know."

"Isn't conservation the number one rule here? Every little bit counts." He wiggled his fingertips stained with black, at her. "I'll wash up later."

"Knock, knock." Wes' voice rang out from behind, startling them both. "Ready to go, sister?"

Soul threw a dirty look at his brother's cheerful expression. "I'll knock you off."

"Violence is ungentlemanlike and completely against what Mother taught us." Wes appeared completely unfazed by his brother's dirty look.

"So is barging into rooms without knocking."

"Don't leave the door unlocked next time then," he answered easily, offering his arm to Maka. "Though I do wonder why you're so bent on your privacy, Solomon."

Soul's face turned a magnificent shade of red. "Just trying to keep the unwanted visitors out, _Wessie._ "

"Sweet as this bonding time is, we'd better be getting a move on." Maka rose, turning to Soul. "It'll be past nightfall by the time we get back from the docks so you don't have to wait for us."

He gave a half-shrug. "There's not much to do back at home so I'll be here. But-" He stood up, expression wavering between uncertainty and some other emotion she couldn't quite identify. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

Maka ignored the frantic thump of her heart and took Wes' arm. "It'll be _fine,_ " she replied. "You'd have to be squished in with all the cargo if you came."

"Still-"

"You won't rob me of my time with my future sister-in-law," Wes chastised in a mock-serious tone, leading Maka to the door. "When else will I have the time to fill her in on the incident with Granny's bloomers and her puppy?"

"See you when we get back." Wes merrily waved a hand in Soul's direction as they exited the shop, leaving him to splutter alone.

The Niddhogg or the Sky Whale, as most people called the nautilus airship for its gargantuan size and the barnacle-esque crusts of rust and splotched stains spotting its hull, was long past its heyday but still world-renown for being the ship to singlehandedly supply the seven Sky Cities in the early years of their inception.

In fact, the aging airship was so large that all other ships had to be cleared for it to dock, which is why it only arrived after the port had closed for the day.

The dying light from the setting sun painted the docks in a burning orange light as Wes and Maka walked down the empty port, the initial mad rush of people eager to retrieve their orders already come and gone. She nodded absently to whatever Wes was gesturing animatedly at as they marched up the gangwalk, hand drifting to her cheek. Usually the mechanical melody of the Sky Whale's engines filled her with a quiet awe but today she kept replaying the soft sweep of Soul's fingers brushing across her face.

Then, her hand balled into a fist and she gave her head a shake, dropping her arm. After the moment that'd passed between them at the ball, she accepted if Soul was going to say what she was hoping he'd say, he would have done so by now and that whatever hopes she had harbored throughout their relationship facade were precisely and only that. She'd tried to bury them in the less-visited places in her mind but hadn't accounted for the vice around her heart that tightened whenever she talked to Soul for more than a few minutes.

Which posed a problem considering they worked together in the same space for twelve hours of the day.

On the surface, she'd thought she had behaved no differently until yesterday when he asked about her keeping the anonymous letter a secret. The veiled hurt of being shut out in his eyes as he asked made her realize she _had_ withdrawn from him, whether she meant to or not. Even after her reassurances, a certain awkwardness now sat between them, edging all of their conversations.

That she had hurt Soul without knowing it dug at Maka like a nail under skin.

She bit back a sigh. And then there was today's incident, which had sparked hope and confusion in equal measure. In all likelihood, she was reading too much into Soul's actions but the tiny flame of hope in her chest stubbornly clung onto life.

Wes waved a hand at a blond attendant with gloves up to his elbows, who ignored him completely and disappeared below deck. "Guess we'll just wait here then." He glanced at Maka, mouth curving into a slight frown. "Trouble in paradise?"

Folding her arms, Maka tried and failed to not sound like a petulant child. "You know there's no paradise, you can drop the facade."

The perennial gaiety in his eyes dimmed and Wes studied her for a moment. "You're right, I can," he said. He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled widely. "So how long have you been in love with my brother?"

If a lightning bolt had struck Maka right there and then, she would be less shocked. "What? I-" Her words tripped over her tongue. "No, it-that is not-"

"Now, my guess would be well before this entire situation arose," interrupted Wes. "Perhaps back when you were only pen pals?"

Blinking rapidly, Maka recovered and snapped her mouth shut. From years of friendship, she knew of Wes' mode of prying open others' secrets was to stun the person into admitting it themselves. She coolly returned his gaze. "That's a fantastical guess from my standpoint."

His smile grew. "It's not so much a guess as a statement, actually."

Even as her stomach twisted, she kept her voice steady. "And your evidence?"

The expression in his face became like the one when he beat her or Soul in chess. "You said so yourself in your letters. Or just as much."

Whatever hold Maka had on her composure abruptly shattered, heart leaping in her throat. "Soul let you read my letters?"

"That's a strong way of putting it," he replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "It was more like he left a few letters out on the table one day and my eyes may have wandered."

Their conversation was put on hold as one of the shipmates with a clipboard came up to them and handed them the key, directing them below to one of the mini-holds at the front of the ship. The sound of her heart pounding filled Maka's ears as she waited until they were below deck before speaking again. "So," she began, forcing herself into calm, "If it's so obvious to you then why hasn't your brother noticed?"

Their footsteps echoed metallically off the walls as they walked down one of the ship's winding corridors. "While Soul is extremely apt at seeing the things hidden in the shadows, he is equally terrible at seeing what's right in front of his nose," Wes answered. He looked down at her, eyes gleaming with glee. "So I can take this as an admission that I'm right?"

Maka kept her eyes set on the numbers etched on the doors of the holds, fiddling with the key. "You already know the answer to that."

"But hearing I'm right makes it much more satisfying."

"And what does it matter if I say it or not?" She made the mistake of looking over at him and her shoulders slumped, a sudden tightness squeezing her throat. "He doesn't feel the same way."

Wes tilted his head sympathetically. "Oh, I wouldn't bel-"

The whirr of a drill and a muffled "hurry up" from around the corner made the pair freeze.

"We're going," a voice grunted.

"Not quickly enough," the first voice snapped. "You were supposed to be done by the time I got here. Are you looking to get us all thrown in jail?"

"Obviously not," the other voice grunted. "We're trying our best to get the door open, all right?"

"Smugglers?" Wes whispered.

Maka pressed a finger to her lips, drawing close to the wall and edging towards the corner.

She moved slowly and dared a peek around the corner. Three people stood in the corridor: two men, the more burly of the two struggling with a drill, while the third, no more distinguishable than a shadow with the black veil they wore, paced aggravatedly back and forth.

They spoke again, something about their voice ringing familiar to Maka although she couldn't quite place her finger where she had heard it before. "This ship leaves in less than two hours and we need to be off it by then so if your best isn't good enough for that, let me know now so I can leave."

The smuggler operating the drill turned, a glass eye glinting from his left eye socket. "It'll be done long before then."

Behind Maka, Wes inhaled sharply. Twisting her head to shush him, her words died in her throat at the sight of the attendant that'd ignored them from before pointing a pistol at them.

A grin split across his face and in a mock whisper he said, "Not a word, not a sound, not a peep."

Giving Maka a shove, he forced them forward, announcing, "We have company."

All three smugglers turned toward his voice, the man holding the drill letting out a curse at the sight of Wes and Maka while the veiled smuggler simply stopped in their tracks, letting out a soft "oh."

In Maka's hand, the teeth of the key bit into her palm as she clenched her hands into fists, staring defiantly at the smugglers. Beside her, Wes started to speak. "Listen," he began, "We don't want any trou-"

The man prodded the point of his gun into Wes' back. "What did I say about talking?"

"Giriko." The veiled smuggler shook their head, gesturing to the smuggler with the glass eye, whispering rapidly in his ear. They stepped back when they finished talking; although their face was covered, the weight of the smuggler's gaze bore down on Maka for a moment before they turned and strode away.

"Right, boss says we're aborting the operation," the smuggler said, clapping his hands together. He nodded at Maka. "Our boss wanted you to know that they're feeling generous enough to let you go but they'll be keeping a close eye on you and your little pegasus project." He looked over at Wes. "And we'll be keeping him as collateral."

She glared at the man. "That's not happening."

"The other option is killing you," Giriko interjected. "Which I'm not opposed to."

"And that's not happening." Wes turned to Maka, a pleading look in his eyes. "You need to go."

Maka set her jaw stubbornly and shook her head. "I'm not leaving unless we both are."

His voice took on a hard edge. "Do you really want Soul having to identify both of our bodies?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "I-"

"All right, that's enough," Giriko interrupted, giving Wes a push. "You have three seconds to get walking."

Over his shoulder, Wes called. "I'll be fine! And tell Soul to not worry."

Numbly, she nodded, watching as the smugglers and Wes disappeared into the dark.

Soul was waiting on the steps of the shop when she returned.

"Maka?" He sprang to his feet, frowning in concern. "What happened? Where's Wes and the cab?"

"Gone. I-we ran into smugglers." It took everything to meet his eyes but she refused to look away, swallowing hard. "He was kidnapped."

Inspector Nygus leaned forward, indigo eyes burning bright in the candlelight. "All right, let's go over it one more time."

Maka's patience broke. "Is that really necessary?"

"We need to run through all the facts several times in case you remember something," the inspector replied steadily. "Talking about it may help jog your memory."

"I _already_ told you everything I remember." She stole a glance out of the corner of her eye to Soul, who had turned little more than a living statue after she'd broke the news of Wes getting kidnapped. "Wouldn't going out to look for Wes be more productive?"

"Alerts and bulletins have gone out but there is not much searching we can do at midnight," she answered. "When the sun rises, we'll begin the search. Now are you sure there's nothing else you want to add?"

"There's been some tools that have gone missing and I got an anonymous threat recently," Maka admitted. "But I don't know why a smuggling ring would be behind that."

The officer looked up at her, frowning. "Mind bringing in that letter tomorrow if you still have it?"

Maka nodded. "I'll come over with it first thing in the morning."

"Very well. Anything else?"

She hesitated, thinking back to the wave of familiarity that had passed through her when she'd heard the masked smuggler's voice. But she had no proof or idea of who it could be other than the feeling that she _knew_ them.

"No," she said finally. "That's really all I can remember."

Setting down her pen, the inspector surveyed her critically before giving the two a sympathetic look. "All right, then. My suggestion to you both would be to get some rest. There's no use worrying yourselves to death."

"Thank you." Maka stood, Soul mirroring her in choppy movements. He did not say anything as they left the station but he stayed close to her as they walked.

By silent agreement, they went back to her shop. While Maka busied herself with turning on the lights, Soul went to sit atop one of the work tables, eyes fixed on a point in the ground.

After she finished, Maka hesitated and shifted back and forth on her feet for a long agonizing moment before going to join him. Taking a spot beside him, she bit her lip. "Do you want to be alone?"

He didn't answer at first. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

She rested her hand between them, palm-up. "Okay."

After many minutes, his fingers linked between hers.

Maka entered the shop with a vexed groan under her breath, letting the door slam closed.

Soul emerged from the kitchen off the work room; neither of them had been able to bring themselves to even look at Steam Victor since Wes' kidnapping five days ago. And while the perpetual shadows under his eyes had grown deeper and darker, he had finally started coming back to life in small, subtle ways. "Same answer?"

"Same answer," she sighed, throwing the deluge of mail she had retrieved from her mailbox on a counter. "Nothing." She refused to be the one to voice what they both were thinking. "He's going to turn up."

The conviction in Soul's voice was dim. "Yeah."

After a minute of silence, he asked, "Do you really think the people who sent the letter and took your tools are the smugglers?"

She paused in sorting the mail. "I don't know." She studied the letter in her hand without taking anything in. "I think one of them recognized me. And-" Lifting her head, she tapped her nails against the countertop. "I feel I should have known them too."

"They had one of their men tell me they'd be keeping an eye on me and 'our little pegasus project' too," she mused. "I didn't give it much thought but-"

"It's only something someone in our circle would know," Soul finished.

Maka's eyes fell on the reminder for Lady Nina Edgerton's coming-of-age ball, which they'd agreed to attend weeks ago. After the past week's events, neither were in the mood to socialize but on the other hand, anyone who was anyone would be there.

Possibly including the smuggling group's ringleader.

She looked up to find Soul staring the invitation as well.

Maka picked up the invitation. "Only one way to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

Since he was a child, Soul mentally framed the most common and routine social interactions with terms of warfare. An unexpected conversation with a passing acquaintance was an ambush. A party he RSVP's for weeks in advance was a battle. The dual charade that he was courting Miss Maka Albarn but also not deeply in love with her? Total war.

Soul was fully aware that this attitude was unfounded and irrational. Society wasn't really out to get him. He was just a petulant, caustic person who needed a reason to justify why he was sometimes so awkward in public.

Walking into Lady Nina Edgerton's birthday free-for-all, his fears felt completely justified.

Every painted smile held a secret. Every mask hid a threat. The bullshit baked into fine clothes and good manners didn't just annoy and confuse him; it left him choking with angry questions. _Which one of you has kidnapped my brother? Where is Wes?_

Soul wished his military-style Navy blue jacket was armor. Suits always made him feel self-conscious, vulnerable. The impulse to rip off his jacket and gasp for air quieted with a soft touch on his arm. Maka, lovely in her dark blue gown cinched with a green sash and her bravest face,

"Ninety minutes," Maka whispered. "Everything important at a party happens in the first 90 minutes. If anyone knows anything about Wes, we'll find out within that time. Do you think you can stand it?"

Maka flicked the grey epaulette on Soul's dark blue jacket, and he let go of his anxiety long enough to smile. She had been so patient with him ever since Wes' disappearance. Soul's emergency response wasn't fight or flight, but _freeze_. He'd become nothing more than a mute, listless lump, all the while Maka kept late night working on their project.

He could file that away with all the other reasons he didn't deserve to have Maka Albarn in his life. How strange that convincing the world that he and Maka were in love was so natural and simple, but convincing himself that such love was in his grasp was always doomed to fail.

"I can handle 90 minutes," he finally said. He held out his arm to her. "Let's go. We can't leave Lady So-and-So waiting at her big party."

It felt wrong to put on a fake smile and attend a party without his brother in tow, but what else could they do? The police had no updates. They had no clues. Their only recourse was to follow Maka's hunch that maybe the people behind Wes' disappearance would be at a party. Not a solid lead, in his opinion.

When they entered the magnificent ballroom and gazed upon a sea of swirling gowns. Soul was too focused on his own problems to pick out the details. It was all a blur to him. He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. It had only been ten minutes.

Soul and Maka sampled the small sandwiches on a waiter's platter. Twelve minutes.

They chatted with someone who had made a small contribution to their project several months ago, before everything went to toxic sludge. Seventeen.

Ninety minutes. He could handle ninety minutes.

When they failed to find out anything new through small talk, Maka and Soul hit the dance floor. Now at their third large ball, Maka had become more comfortable gliding across the room in his arms. Soul wished he could revel in it-his hand on the small of her back, her perfume wafting towards him as she twirled. It just felt wrong, empty. And he could tell she felt the same. They were going through the motions, brows stuck in a furrow as they wondered _where, where, where?_

The pair did another round of small talk and sandwiching when Soul felt a tap on his shoulder. A short, curvaceous woman with doll-like dimples smiled up at him. "Mr. Evans, you can spare a dance for me, can't you?"

Soul had no idea who this woman was. He had a polite rejection caught in the back of his throat when the woman grabbed his wrist and ripped him away from Maka. She tugged him into the crowd and situated herself in his arms. They began to perform a robotic waltz.

"I've been trying to dance with you all night," she said with a laugh, as if the party had been going on for hours instead of 55 minutes. "My husband has told me so much about you. The Steam Victor is _fascinating."_

It took a stressful minute of dancing for Soul to realize who he was talking to.

Her name was Nora Featherstone, the wife of Lord Neville Featherstone. She normally wore wide-brimmed hats with colorful fountains of plumage, but tonight she merely sported a miniature cap pinned to the side part of her black hair.

Now dancing with this strange woman felt mandatory. Luckily, Soul had spent a lifetime perfecting his blank Society Face, so Nora had no idea that he had failed to recognize her. "Your husband has been really supportive," he said. "Miss Albarn and I are quite grateful to him. And to you."

"Grateful." Nora's mouth twisted for a moment before she laughed again. "It's so odd to hear ascendant young people express their thanks. Your generation behaves as if it is invulnerable, and even I forget that it isn't so."

Soul nodded, unsure of what to say.

"By the way, congrats on your engagement," she said. "The Albarn girl is quite a catch. You've done very well for yourself. And your family. I'm sure your parents would be very proud of your accomplishments here."

"I haven't accomplished much of anything yet."

"Ah, humble too. A good feeling to keep hold off in the world of business. You never know how things will end up!"

Nora flashed him a cheery smile before bidding him adieu. "Give Maka my regards," she said before spinning away. Soul was surprised to hear Nora Featherstone use Maka's first name. Her husband had never been so familiar with the two of them. Then again, he wasn't exactly a stickler for social convention either.

He found Maka back by the dessert table downing a flute of champagne. Her eyes flicked between him and the door on the other side of the ballroom, frantic like a caged animal.

Those eyes latched onto Soul when the two finally reunited. "Soul, what on earth was that? Why would you dance with _her?_ "

He shrugged. "Dunno. Figured dancing with Steam Victor's rich uncle would be a good idea."

"What?" Maka was now completely white. "Soul, that was Lenora Scalton. The woman who used to cavort with _my father!"_

This revelation sent Soul reeling. "Forgive me, but how didn't you know our main benefactor's _wife_ and your father's jilted lover are the same woman? After all this time?"

"It's the hats!" Maka realized aloud. "Every time I've seen her, she was always wearing these towering, feathery, _audacious_ hats! I never got a good look at her face, or spoke to her for that matter. Besides, it's hard to recognize people when they appear in an unexpected context, isn't it?"

Soul ran a hand through his hair. Nora Featherstone. Short of Lenora Featherstone, nee Scalton. There was just enough misdirection for Maka to believe Nora Featherstone to be a complete stranger, and Soul was never prepared to know the difference. And with all the focus on Neville, her husband, the partners never spared a moment to think about the wife. All along, one of Maka's greatest enemies was dancing in their periphery, her laughter the soundtrack of every public event they attended, but Soul and Maka were too wrapped up in their project to notice.

They bade their goodbyes to the Edgertons and made their leave. Only 76 minutes had passed.

The carriage ride home was spent in stony silence. Soul contemplated the implications of their first and most generous investor being married to her father's ex-girlfriend, who also was an insidious rumor monger. Their abrupt dance didn't feel sinister at the time, but now Soul replayed the memory over and over in his head to find a deeper meaning. What on earth was that?

Rather than turning in for the night, Maka made a beeline for the workshop. Probably to relieve stress through work. Having nothing else to do, Soul plunged his hands in his pockets.

In the short walk from the carriage to the workshop, Soul's pocketed hands discovered a folded piece of paper. He ambled inside, carefully reading it, his surroundings melting together as the words sunk in.

 _We couldn't grab your supplies, so instead we're gonna take your final product. Deliver your horsey and little miss Maka Albarn to the Loew district. Your brother is alive. Don't get the police involved if you want to keep him that way._

The note was written in jagged scrawl on plain stationery. He was at a loss of how it came to be in his left pocket.

"Does this look anything like our other threatening note?" Soul asked, handing the paper over.

An avid reader, Maka needed only to glance at the note before she knew what is was. "A ransom! Did you find this outside?"

"In my jacket pocket. Don't ask me how."

If they handed over Steam Victor, the Evans family would lose everything. If they handed over Maka, Soul would lose everything. If they didn't, they would lose Wes. There was no winning. They had come so close to fixing his family, so close to realizing Maka's dreams, only to have it all snatched away.

Soul kicked a box of stray gears on the floor. " _Dammit!_

"Soul," Maka whispered. "You don't think Nora-"

"We were dancing. I would have noticed if her hands wandered into my pockets."

"Somebody's hands did and you didn't notice a thing!"

"You may recall that when a man leads a waltz, his partner has one hand in his and another on his shoulder. Though considering your dancing skills, I can see why you're so confused."

"I'm just trying to make sense of it all," Maka snapped. "Everything is escalating and I don't know what to do!" She leaned against one of their workshop tables and took off her hat. It was only now that Soul noticed how much she had been sweating under it.

It was unfair for him to be so harsh with her, especially after all she had done to help Soul and his family. Soul had no right to snap at someone worrying about the safety of his brother, the health of his family estate. He was an utterly awful partner, and an even worse friend.

Maka stared at the Steam Victor, biting her lip. "You can't consider going along with their demands," Soul said. "You've worked too hard to lose Steam Victor now, and we have no idea what they want with you!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Soul, you think I _care_ about a single invention? You think I care about my safety? I don't know how Nora Featherstone fits into all this, but I do know that I'll never stand by while the people I care about are in danger. If I pack it up now, we'll make it to warehouse by midnight."

Soul sighed. There was no changing her mind. "At least we can take solace in the fact that we are handing over an unfinished prototype," he said.

"No," Maka said faintly. "I finally got it to work last night. Rotten luck, huh?"


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10_**

They arrived in Loew district at noon, like the letter instructed, sitting in tense silence. When fifteen minutes had passed, Maka sat up, drumming her fingers nervously on the seat. "Where are they?"

"Are you that eager to trade yourself in?"

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "Well, there's no other way you're getting Wes back."

"Losing you would be like losing him, you know."

She couldn't look over at him. Unsticking her voice, she said, "I guess we'll have to see what happens." She added, "Whenever they turn up, that is."

"Which is now, I think." He pointed to a black car idling in the middle of the road. It flashed its lights once before beginning to move again.

They followed the car to a row of abandoned warehouses nearby and entered the garage, where an aging midsize airship sat.

"Do you think this is their headquarters?" Maka asked quietly.

"Looks like it."

Giriko and the man with the false eye emerged from the car first. Walking to the back of the car, the man opened the door and the veiled smuggler stepped out of the car.

Maka found her voice. "Here I am," she said. "And Steam Victor."

"So nice of you to make it, my dear Maka." Nora Featherstone removed the veil from her face, smiling sweetly. "Though I see you're not alone." She jerked her head to the man with the false eye.

All at once, everything became glaringly obvious.

"It was you." Maka ground her heel into the floor to keep herself from smashing her fist into Nora's smug expression. "It was always you."

"I should have thought it obvious. Did you really think that I would forgive your slights? The distance-" Her voice shook slightly. "That you put between Spirit and I?"

" _That_ is why you're doing this?" Maka asked disbelievingly. "Because my father broke up with you?"

"Really, _dear_ , your intelligence has been overstated." Nora's voice became steely. "I will never allow myself to be made the fool." She gave a soft titter from behind her fan. "Besides, do you think that my husband would have really given you a penny for your silly idea without some inducement on my part?"

Maka swallowed her anger. "Where is Wes?"

She nodded to Giriko, who opened the car door and revealed an unconscious but very much alive Wes. "Now I had only meant to steal your delivery that day but I do admit this worked out so much better."

Soul stiffened. "What did you do to him?"

Nora waved his words away. "Only a bit of chloroform, he'll be fine. I'd take your brother and get far away from here, boy." She sneered. "Ironic that one of the families my husband put out of business with our dealings had to double their bad luck by having their sons associate with you."

Soul took a step forward, jabbing a finger at Nora. " _You're_ the reason our family went bankrupt?"

"It was only business," she said dismissively. "Now enough talk. Take your brother and go."

He glanced at Maka and then he shook his head. "No."

Nora narrowed her eyes. "Do not try my patience."

"Soul," Maka whispered. "Take Wes and go, it'll be fine."

"No," he repeated simply, glaring at Nora. "I'm staying with you."

"One hostage or two hostages, it means the same to me." She waved a hand imperiously. "Go tie them up and put them and that horrendous contraption in the hold and out of my sight. I have to meet my husband here and I intend to be out of this dreadful place before tea time."

Dust wafted down as Giriko opened up the cargo hold, one hand locked around Maka's arm while Free held onto Soul. She choked on the falling dust and let out an involuntary yelp as Giriko shoved her roughly. The ropes binding her arms together pushed her off-balance and she stumbled into Steam Victor, hip crashing painfully into the hard metal.

"Maka!" Soul's hands hooked awkwardly underneath her elbow.

She stood, glaring up at Giriko as the smuggler pulled the hold's double doors closed and kicked the door mockingly. "Enjoy your stay."

Biting down on a furious scream, Maka rushed forward and slammed the sole of her boot against the door in reply.

Giriko's glee ran unfiltered in his voice. "Feel free to make all the noise you want. The only people here are us and the bosses."

She sucked in short and shallow breaths as he and Free's footsteps faded away.

Soul was only a voice in the pitch black darkness of the hold. "Well, this isn't the most ideal situation."

Maka didn't answer.

A trickle of alarm threaded through Soul's voice. "Maka? Are you okay?"

"You shouldn't be asking me that," she said finally. "You should be angry at me."

"What?" The floor creaked as Soul inched forward, confusion replacing his worry.

"I'm sorry," Maka whispered, refusing to turn although she'd be unable to see his face anyways.

There was a pause. "I'm still not following."

"You and Wes would have never been involved in that idiot woman's plan for revenge if I had just cleared up that we weren't a couple when the rumour first started." The words stung her throat like needles as they left her mouth. "I was selfish."

"How were you selfish?" Soul was close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. "I agreed to it, didn't I?"

She turned slowly. "Yes but-" A beat of silence followed before she gathered up her courage, spilling out in a rush, "I liked pretending that I was with you. That we were a couple."

At least she wouldn't have to see his face when Soul rejected her.

For several overlong moments, Maka waited. Then, she heard Soul open his mouth and braced herself.

"I liked pretending too, only, I also wasn't pretending."

Shock sliced neatly through the buffers surrounding her heart and Maka blinked rapidly. "I-what?"

"I thought that I had made it obvious enough." Soul was the one to speak quickly now. "In my letters and when I returned," he mumbled. "And after Featherstone's ball, I thought you knew for sure and were trying to spare my feelings."

A giddy laugh burst from her lips. "Did you even read my replies to you? I thought I was being the obvious one and you were the one trying to let me down gently."

Soul's bound hands found hers, his thumb brushing the top of her knuckles. "Ironic that it's here that we came out of the dark about this."

She bit back a reluctant laugh. "Don't."

Squinting at his face would be, she felt Soul doing the same and a tension change the space of the air between them. They moved at the same time; Maka brushed her lips against Soul's, leaning forward to press more firmly against him when she felt his mouth curve into a smile.

They pulled away at the same time, hands still interlocked with the other's.

Soul spoke first, voice not as steady as before. "Not exactly the way I pictured this, admittedly."

"The ropes are a bit of a damper," Maka agreed, lips still tingling. "But I think I can take care of that."

"How?"

"Well, you were right," she said, pulling her hands away to remove the chisel she'd tucked away in her sash. Her bonds came loose with a quick flick of her wrists and she slid the blade underneath his ties and rope and cut him free. "No one expects a chisel."

Soul was incredulous. "You could have freed us the whole time?"

Maka felt up and down the door for its lock.-it was a steel deadbolt that she had no hope of picking open with the chisel. She stepped back, thinking hard. "I got distracted."

A trace of smug amusement lined his words. "I guess I can't blame you."

"Hilarious," she said, glad for the dark hiding her blush, and moving to the back of the cargo hold. "Now help me out with positioning Steam Victor."

"Er, why?" he asked as he joined her.

"It's not quite what I envisioned using him for but he is the perfect battering ram-well, horse," Maka amended, running her hands down the steam horse's sides and finding the emergency switch on his flank. "And his engine makes for an effective propulsion system," she grunted, tugging on the horse. "Once we angle him just right, I'll turn him on and he'll do the rest."

Soul followed her movements in adjusting Victor. "You do know cronies one and two are going to come running when they hear that."

"Which is why we run faster." Maka put her hand back on the switch. "Ready?"

There was the sound of Soul moving closer and then his hand around hers. "Not much of a choice, is there?"

Maka squeezed his hand. "Nope." Then she flipped the switch and sprang back as Victor roared to life with a thunderous cacophony. The hold was illuminated by the lights of the mechanical horse as Victor lurched forward, crashing into the doors and sending another spray of dust from the ceiling.

Narrowing her eyes, she peered through the debris-Victor had deactivated with the collision and unlike she had hoped, the doors did not crash open but they did bend outwardly, forming a hole large enough to fit through.

"Let's go!"

Clambering atop of Victor, she reached back to help pull Soul up and scrambled through the hole, jumping down.

In the distance, she heard faint yelling. She turned to Soul, who was fumbling with his pant hem. "Hurry!"

"I'm stuck," he grunted.

"So pull yourself free!"

"I'm _trying!_ " With a final yank, his pants leg came free and he landed on his back on the ground.

Maka jumped forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "Come on."

Together, they ran, diving behind a wooden crate just as the door to the hull crashed open. Both Giriko and Free ran down the stairs, heading straight to the back of the hull.

Soul tugged on her hand once they had passed where they were hidden and they ran as silently as they could, reaching the steps to the rest of the ship before a cry sounded from behind them. "There they are!"

Shutting the door with a slam, Maka took the lead, Soul on her heels. As they passed a hallway, she caught the sound of Nora's panicked voice. Screeching to a halt, she whirled around. "Wait."

Soul looked at her perplexedly. "Wait for what? We need to go."

"New plan." She veered down the hallway, following the whiny tone of Nora's voice until she came to the room it was coming from.

In one fluid move, she pulled the door shut, catching a glimpse of Nora and Featherstone's stunned faces, and withdrew the chisel, jamming it in the lock.

"This way!" She yanked on Soul's sleeve, praying the schematic she was thinking of matched the airship's.

"Shouldn't we be heading for the exit?" Confusion clouded over his face but he didn't slow down, angry footfalls of Giriko and Free, escaped from the cargo hold growing closer.

"Just wait," she called between breaths, praying that her mental schematic of the ship was not wrong and praying even harder that the pilot's room was empty.

Both of her prayers were answered as they launched up a flight of stairs and rounded a short bend to find the pilot's cabin devoid of anyone.

They rushed in, Soul spinning around to slam the door shut.

"I thought we were going to the police?" he yelled as he scrambled for the lock. Immediately after he drew the deadbolt came the ear-splitting pounding of Giriko and Free colliding into the door. "Why did you take us here?"

"We _are_ going to the police." Maka settled into the pilot's seat and began flicking on switches on the dashboard, adjusting the compass next to the steering wheel. "And we're taking the evidence with us."

"You know how to fly one of these things?"

"I studied the mechanics of piloting when I first got the idea for Steam Victor," she called over her shoulder, flicking switches on the dashboard.

"So you've actually flown an airship?" he asked, panting against the straining door. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Well..." Maka glanced over her shoulder, ship beginning to come alive. "In reality, it wasn't exactly an airship," she admitted. "More like an old airship simulator."

"A simulator?" Soul repeated flatly.

"That Stein stole from a junkyard and revamped himself." She pulled a lever and the ship rumbled underneath their feet as the propellers began to spin.

"That is-" A particularly heavy-hitting blow resounded from the smugglers attempting to batter down the door. "Just perfect," he finished. "Mind telling me exactly where we're landing this thing if we don't crash and burn first?"

"There's an airfield next to the police station," she replied, strapping herself in. "All we need to do is land there. And you should buckle in yourself now, it's going to get bumpy."

Soul raised his voice to be heard over the barrage on the door. "And when the door gives out?"

"It's just across town, we should make it in less than five minutes." Maka thrummed her hands against the steering wheel. "Besides I've got a plan to get those two off our backs and unless you're prepared for a world of pain, you don't want to be standing for that."

"Suffering was never a particularly favorite hobby of mine." He seated himself in the co-pilot's seat and buckled himself in. "Ready when you are."

Maka grinned. "Brace yourself." And with a violent jerk of the wheel, she drove the ship backwards.

Along with the high-pitched whine of the ship's wheels and bone-deep reverberations as the ship crashed into the back of the warehouse came the groans as Free and Giriko were knocked off their feet and consequent thuds as they fell down the stairs.

"Hang on." Pushing the wheel forward as hard as she could, the ship jumped forward in a single burst of speed, decimating the front of the warehouse easily.

The airship began to speed up as it rolled down the row of empty warehouses and towards the edge of Death City. _Not yet._

Soul coughed awkwardly next to her. "Maka?"

"I know."

"Are you going to do something about it?"

"Wait for it." She zeroed on the distance between them and Death City's precipice. _Not yet._

"I'm not sure if that's the wisest course of action-"

"Now!"

Pulling up on the wheel as hard and quick as she possibly could, Maka let out a whoop of victory as the airship took off into the sky. "See? Waiting paid off."

"I did see that," Soul replied stiffly, flattening himself against the back of the chair. "Most unfortunately."

Frowning, Maka arched an eyebrow. "Are you that afraid of heights?"

"Only slightly," he replied through gritted teeth and closed eyes. "Though all things considered, this is actually nice," he noted after a minute, edging a small peek out of the window. He blanched. "Think I'll avoid looking down though."

"If you're so scared, why did you return to a Sky City?"

"Family duty," he answered, hands clamped around the armrests. "Plus, you were here."

Maka pinked. "I-"

A high-pitched alarm sounded from the dashboard and she swore, willing the ship to fly faster.

"What is that?"

"We're running out of gas." She gritted her teeth as the airfield came into view, red lights from everywhere on the dashboard blinking at her. "We're going to have to crash land."

"What?"

"Grab onto to something now!"

Holding the steering wheel tight to keep the plane steady, the last thing Maka saw was the field as they touched down and a flash of white light as her head connected with the wheel.

She was floating in a sea of night.

Death was dark.

"Maka? Maka!"

Death was also loud, too loud. The noise pulled her out of the dark and she opened her eyes slowly, head pounding in time with her heart.

Soul's face was only inches from hers, gazing at her frantically. He let out a breath when their eyes met. "You had me worried, what hurts?"

Maka wet her lips. "You're not dead?"

The panic in his eyes dimmed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Not since the last time I checked."

She struggled against the fog clouding her mind. "Then that must mean I'm alive."

"Your powers of logic astonish me." He swept the hair out of her face, fingers gently probing her hairline for injuries and pulling away when she let out a hiss of pain.

The sound of protesting metal as it was shifted to the side interrupted her reply. Maka blinked against the light suddenly streaming in from the windshield and the half a dozen police officers peering at Soul and her in alarm.

Searching through the sea of faces, Maka easily found Inspector Nygus' eyes." She tried for the most clear-headed tone she could manage. "Inspector, I'd like to present to you the smuggler's hideout."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

 _DISGRACEFUL: NORA FEATHERSTONE EXPOSED AS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND  
By Shaula Gorgon _

_The recipe for a scandal comes together like eggs and bacon as freelance Inventor Maka Albarn presses charges against her generous sponsor's spouse._

 _Following the events after the recovery of Wes Evans, one of Death City's most eulogized socialites was revealed to have more sinister plans than her outfits for tomorrow. The seemingly frivolous socialite was revealed to be the mastermind of the smuggling ring plaguing Death City for years, as seen by the dramatic scene on the police station's airfield yesterday. An inside source comments, "I don't put it past her. She's always manipulated her way to the top. This is just the first time she's been caught."_

 _Featherstone declines to comment..._

 _LOVE IS IN THE AIR  
By Shaula Gorgon _

_Dream team Albarn and Evans are at it again, this time in the sky!_

 _Witnesses report spotting the couple's rendezvous on top of their work-in-progress, the 'Pegasus' Steam Victor. One source says, "They are just the sweetest couple. I hope one day I can find a man to ride into the sunset with too."_

 _After deadbeat inventor Spirit Albarn caught wind of the sighting, he reached out to the press for a comment. His statement has been edited to revised phrases suitable for cultured readers._

 _"I don't have anything to say about this alleged outing other than it being [untrue]. But if it weren't [untrue], that [Soul Evans] better keeps his hands above the belt and below the asteroids. Not that my sweet Maka would allow his [unwelcome] mitts to touch her pure, unstained skin in the first place, even if they are engage- which they are not."_

 _Whether this new publicity stunt was for romance or a high impact product advertisement, buyers can't wait to pre-order..._

 _BEREFT MILLIONAIRE TO BE SINGLE AGAIN_

 _By Shaula Gorgon_

 _Ladies, look out! Eccentric millionaire Neville Featherstone just filed for divorce after his wife was discovered to be a mafia ring leader. Quelle horreur!_

 _According to Daily Death sources, Featherstone's lawyer claims the wealthy venture capitalist was 'bewitched' by a woman who only sought to use him for money. This revelation has left him despondent and unsure if he will ever love again._

 _Meanwhile, femalekind throughout Death City are now angling to make an advantageous match during this man's time of emotional need. Unsurprisingly, Miss Maka Albarn is among his rumored suitors…_

 _STEAM VICTOR TAKES DEATH CITY BY STORM_

 _By Shaula Gorgon_

 _A day does not go by when Miss Maka Albarn's name doesn't appear in the papers. However, this might mark the first time she is discussed in the Business section of the Daily Death._

 _After many months of speculation and anticipation, Miss Albarn and her fiance, Lord Soul Evans, presented their 'Steam Victor' invention. A strange contraption that gives individuals the power of flight, the Steam Victor is expected to revolutionize travel in Death City._

 _It may be a year or so more of testing and tweaking before the product hits the market. But the Albarn-Evans partnership need not wait for funds; following the revelations of Nora Featherstone, the Evans estate was able to wrestle back ownership of its own company. Death Kidman, an attorney named after our very city, will take over the reins as CEO while the Evans brothers advise…_

Soul stumbled into bed, too exhausted from the day to take off his dusty boots and too hungry to move any further. He spent the past week parading around his hometown, going to every meeting Kidman recommended and chasing every lead where Nora- Lenora was reported to have been sighted before her return to Death City's borders over the past year. His case continued to grow as they found more and more companies put into bankruptcy by Lenora's stained hand, stretching as far as the past decade. As they combined forces to reclaim their business, Soul was certain that Lenora wouldn't be able to escape her consequences.

He had decided to stick around the mainland to help repair the damage during her corrupt monopoly. It was just right to help in whatever ways he can, Soul believed. But he missed the city that floated through the skies, particularly one woman who he swore he'd never let go again.

Maka was supportive when Soul had approached her six months ago. As he explained the situation, how he and Wes could reclaim their family company, she appeared happy, but her disappointment soon became too strong for her to hold back.

"We haven't seen each other since we were children," Maka had muttered, looking down at her working shoes as she played with the tips of her toes. "I can't believe you're leaving again."

"I'll be back soon," Soul had promised. "Besides, I'm bad at letters, and I can't very well let my business partner handle all of the work alone."

"Is that a date then?"

"If that's what you want," he'd said, kissing her cheek goodbye.

Since then, Soul counted the seconds that they'd been apart. If he turned his head towards the window of his mansion, he could make out the silhouette of a skull as it floated in front of the moon. It was then that he wished for time to move faster.

But tonight, he looked to his bedside table where he kept a framed picture of himself, Maka, and their Steam Victor, posting for their first picture on its release day. They stood with the prototype 'Pegasus' in the center, but only the two knew that their hands had met behind it. Seeing it made his eyes water.

A bell rang in the hall, and Soul pushed himself from his bed to join his brother for another dinner, crestfallen.

"- And I found another old chest in the storage, this time belonging to our dearest mother! She kept a piece from every major fashion line since she was fourteen tucked away in a journal. It's a wonder how father was able to take her ideas and make it into a enterprise because let me tell you, Soul. Her chicken scratch looks as bad as yours."

"Mmhm." Soul moved his veal from side to side on his plate with a fork. "That sounds riveting."

"I found another chest that you may be interested in, a particularly white one with a stamp inside. You may recognize it: it's worn down from use, but you can still see the pattern it inscribes. A heart with a capital 'S,' yeah?" Wes coyly added, "There were some fairly interesting and familiar papers tucked away inside too-"

"Oh my word, Wes. Have you no shame?! Did you read any of it?!" Soul jumped from his seat, turning redder than wine as Wes continued to tease. "Weeesssss!" he whined.

"'Dearest friend,'" Wes recited from memory, waving his knife like it were a wand. "'I write to bring you news of my relocation to Death City. As you know, my brother,' that's me, 'moved to your area years ago, and I understand that he meets you for tea from time to time. Unfortunately, his spare rooms are being used for storage at the moment.' Oh Soul. Is that how you got her to let you stay at her home? This is scandalous, brother. You know I would have offered you the powder room!"

"I never sent that letter," he blushed, picking at his veal once again. "I rewrote another."

"Well, go figure. No wonder I read it just moments ago. There was also an interesting bit at the end where you confessed your aging affections, your _tortured emotions!"_

"I'm going to strangle you."

"It was unfortunate that you never sealed and mailed it off, so I did it for you!"

Soul dropped his utensils. " _What?"_

"You've been just so miserable, and I thought it was because of your… _frustrations._ I know how I was at your age, so eager to be with my one true love, only to realize I enjoy the lack of commitment-"

"What you did was completely out of hand and out of place though, Wes-"

"So why don't you go back to Death City and retrieve it before Maka reads it, hmm?"

Soul blinked. "Go back? To Death City?"

"Sure. I mean, almost everything is wrapped up now isn't it? Our victim-mates are closing in on Lenora who's already suffering major media backlash. The house is almost restored back to its former glory, which you didn't help at all with. And I just sent that letter about your _blossoming-"_

"Fine, whatever! Yeah sure, I'll go. You're right. _Stop,"_ Soul said, picking up his plate and dashing to his room.

"Flight's been booked! You leave tomorrow morning!" Wes called to him, tapping Soul's letter on his thigh under the tablecloth.

The wind was waiting for Soul's return, reuniting him with its strong gusts and dust as Soul stepped off from the zeppelin. It was only this powerful at the edge of the city, he remembered, lowering his hat weighing on his head. It was a familiar sound that welcomed him. Passengers stepping off along side him cried in outburst, screaming at their mussled hair and their slipping pamphlets. Their voices blew away as Soul went on, walking towards the only person at the station who was unbothered by the mess.

She waited just to the side of the ship, peeking under her parasol as he came closer. Maka Albarn, born and raised in the harshness of Death City, had bigger things to worry about than skirts and petticoats, preferring to wear trousers that day under a guise. It was a strange sight, and Soul swears it was his stolen coat that she was wearing as he approached. This was not the elegant heiress that he remembered, but his lifelong friend who he loved since their childhood years.

The threat of sand couldn't stop him from smiling.

"You can always tell who returns," Maka said warmly, gesturing to Soul's iron boots and to the gears stitched around the hem of his clothing. She reached to take his luggage, but Soul twined their fingers together, pulling her into a hug.

"Ms. Albarn? You've received a letter."

Soul froze with his pencil in mid-stroke, pressing down into his sketch of Maka. They'd been lounging in the study, idly enjoying each other's company while Maka read the papers and while Soul drew her doing so. After two weeks, the letter finally made its way to Death City.

"I'll get it," Soul said, reaching for the butler who recoiled from him.

Maka raised her eyebrow. The only post that she received since she set up their company's new address at their new office was from unsolicited suitors. "Who's it from, Jecklin?"

The butler side-eye'd Soul. "Your fiance, it appears."

She turned to him. "Soul? You sent me a letter?"

"No," he said quickly. "I mean yes- I mean no, no I didn't. Wes did, but it was an old letter. There's nothing to be gained from reading it," he said.

He was nonchalant and unreadable to the butler, but not to Maka. "Then there is nothing to be gained from throwing it away it either." Maka held out her hand. "Jecklin, the letter please!"

Maka took her time to get to her box of letter openers, making a show of which one to use. She lifted at least four of them, testing out the sharpness of each one against her finger. Eventually, she settled on the one she'd used to open his previous letters, a yellow long handled knife with an insignia of 'The Heart of the City' etched on its blade.

"I wonder what I'll find in here," Maka pondered.

"I'll give you fifty pounds for it," Soul bargained.

"Money has always been my lowest priority," she reminded, cutting the envelope in one fluid motion. "You could be my aide for life, though?"

"You're a serpent, Albarn."

"Yet you're still in love, Evans- wait, what is this supposed to mean?"

She read the paper over and over again at her seat, ignoring Soul's failing attempts to explain its contents. When she finally through with it, she held it out for Soul. Inside of the folds read a single word written in fine, large calligraphy:

 _"Bamboozled."_

"I'm fucking- I- _Wes!"_

The double doors of the study slammed open, and in entered such the man Soul called for. He carried a large platter of finger sandwiches in one hand, and held another sealed envelope in the other. "Well I missed you all, too! Sandwiches?"


	12. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

Up in the air away from the sand, away from the smog of the city that Maka held so dear was another world that she knew could be her new home. It was the endless expanse of blue and its crisp air that whisked her away, higher than her floating castle could reach. They rode into the clouds where the Steam Victor prototype hovered with the sun behind it, too high up to cast a shadow onto the desert. Out of all her inventions so far, she considered her stead to be her favorite, mostly because it brought her and Soul together.

Maka tied the reins to her wrist and turned behind her towards Soul. "Isn't it beautiful? You can see all the way to England from here with a pair of binoculars," she shouted over the wind.

Instead of raising his voice to match hers, he leaned closer, hugging her tighter from behind. "Lovely indeed. The weather is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"I do." A smile warmed her face. "Soul, I wish you came out here with me sooner. Steam Victor has shown a 98% rate of success since we made the final adjustments and we're climbing in stocks faster than we know what to do with the funds. We have some time to enjoy now."

"Could we enjoy a little closer to land? I'm afraid heights still don't agree with me."

She chuckled, resting her back against his chest as she looked back to the skyline. Before she could comment on her favorite time of the evening, Soul spoke first.

"Now that we do have the time though, I wanted to ask you about something."

"Sure, is it about Wes? If it is, you could have the same room-"

"No, it's not, but I may revisit that topic after this one." He sighed into her ear. "Maka? What are we? We were friends, then we became fake engaged- are we… I don't know…"

"Same, Soul. I don't know what you know, but weren't we dating this entire time?" she said, the picture of innocence.

"I- We were?"

"We are," Maka corrected.

"D-does that mean we're also getting _real_ engaged?" he stuttered, reverting back to his flustered ways as Maka laughed.

"It probably does, but I'll think about it. I may say yes if you give me a ring that looks like a gear that I can spin... well, actually I made one for myself already; it's in my pocket. Propose to me when we land in Old Town, yeah? You can make the wedding rings."

"Holy shit, Maka. I-"

"I've waited long enough." She reached behind her, bringing his head closer with a hand in his wind-tossed hair. Before she met his lips though, she took one last moment to ask, "So, what do you say?"

"I do."

And they kissed with the setting sun behind them on top of their pegasus, unaware that the clouds had since moved and dozens of Death City citizens now see them with clarity.

P.S. Soul ended up saving the tabloid published the next day, tucking it behind the frame of their picture with Steam Victor. Same with Maka, though she kept her copy in the box filled with Soul's letters.


End file.
